


An Angel’s Blood

by IShouldUpdateMore



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angel Lotor, Angel/Demon AU, M/M, Minor Keith/Lance (Voltron), Minor Keith/Shiro (Voltron), demon shiro, shotor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2019-10-01 09:29:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 271,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17241758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShouldUpdateMore/pseuds/IShouldUpdateMore
Summary: Lotor, an angel, paired with a human to save his life.Shiro, a demon, bonded to a human because of a deal.Their work put them on opposing teams, inspiring hatred and a rivalry. Perhaps if their projects hadn't fallen so in love with each other, they'd never have gotten so caught up with each other. Although, perhaps it was inevitable. Perhaps they were more connected than once thought possible.While Shiro bared the scissors, Lotor supplied the thread. But the red strings of fate could only do so much.





	1. An Angel, A Demon.

Persistence was something Shiro never understood.

Maybe he did. Maybe when he lived a human life and walked upon the Earth as a mortal, his soul free and pure, Shiro might have understood the values of persistence. He would never know, of course. His mortal life was unknown to him. Ebbed away, chipped by the sculpting tools of Hell as they dug and grinded at his conscious and his soul to create the disgusting masterpiece, perfected to perform the deeds of a demon. He knew nothing of his past life. It was gone. Lost. Shiro could stretch far back into the deep concaves of his mind and he would find nothing but Hell.

He hadn't even known his real name.

Shiro was a nickname... at least he thought it was. He had a lot that the other demons would call him, but Shiro was his favorite so he presented himself with that one. He'd given up trying to remember the full one. He'd given up remembering everything.

He'd given up on a lot of things.

Which brings back that tricky little topic of persistence. Why was it so virtuous, Shiro wondered, when it was such a weak, useless sort of mindset? Persistence was vain. Fruitless. Pointless. A man can try all he wants to live but he will still die. A man can try all he wants to change but he will still fall to the fate that has been given to him. The sun could still burn as much as it wanted to but it would sputter out. Each star would sputter out. Every blade of grass would wither and every tree would hollow and collapse. Persistence in anything was nothing but needless effort in the midst of inevitability. Everything had a timer. Everything had a destiny. Everything was set in its stone.

Trying was useless.

Shiro didn't know whether or not Keith's persistence was enough to make him laugh or enough to make him roll his eyes. Keith Kogane, the boy who'd never give up finding his mother. Time and time again he summoned Shiro. Time and time again he would set up the ritual and offer his blood to bring about Shiro's physical form -- a ironic little fact due to Shiro's constant watch on the boy and Shiro's ability to just show himself upon simple command. Time and time again he'd beg for another deal. Another power. Another secret.

Time and time again Shiro would mull over his persistence.

"Please," Keith had begged him. "I just need one more hint. I need... I need something. I'm so close. Please... you have to help me..."

It was the seventh time they had bargained, but Shiro still had his numerous connections to the boy. Six heavy chains connected their souls by then, but dozens and dozens of thin red twine stitched Keith's soul to Shiro's being as well. Every bad deed Shiro was able to convince Keith to do, every time he'd whisper to him just out of the reaches of the boy's subconscious, another string was tied to them. Another string that condemned Keith to an afterlife in Hell.

"What do you have to offer?" Shiro asked, sounding bored. He was walking back and forth Keith's shitty one bedroom apartment, running his eyes along the cracks in its walls and cobwebbing in its corners. "You've given me your soul. Your dog's soul. Your money. Your freedom. Your blood. Your permission to take your soul whenever I want. What the hell else could you possibly have?"

Keith grew despondent for a moment, looking down to the floor. "I... I don't know..." he murmured, shaking his head. "What do you want to take from me? I'll... I'll give you anything..."

Shiro looked him up and down, frowning. How pitiful him and his disgusting persistence were. All that begging. All that pleading. Summoning Shiro up just to tell him he had nothing to offer... what a humiliating display.

"Give me more of your blood," Shiro said finally after a good moment or two of deep, contemplative silence.

Human blood was a valuable thing to collect for those from Hell. That was where all those old vampire stories came from -- it was really always demons caught stealing blood from humans, not those silly little creatures humans had come up with. It was useful for rituals, for dealings with other demons, for feeding to the Hellhounds. Of course it was particularly useful for demons to drink. The ingestion of human blood cured wounds -- it eased pains. That little aspect was especially useful for Shiro... the chronic pains in his chest and the sizzle that thrummed about each and every one of his permanently aching scars of torture were always soothed by human blood. He had already taken a good pint or so of Keith's blood the last time they dealt with one another. He wouldn't mind a few good gulps... he was planning on dropping Keith soon anyways. One final feast upon his taste would fare him well.

Keith's eyes widened. "That's all?" he asked, bewildered. "I... of course! Yeah. Of course. It's a deal."

Shiro's eyes sparkled at the word, his idle pacing freezing about in its tracks. The demon turned towards Keith, crept his way forward, and peered down at him, grinning. 

 

"You know the drill," Shiro said, leaning in close to him. He closed his eyes, and parted his lips, awaiting for Keith's kiss.

Their lips made hasty contact. Tongues met tongues. Magic buzzed, coursing through Shiro's body and forcing its dirty way into Keith's system. Keith kissed Shiro harder, reaching up to grab hold of Shiro's shoulders, fingers tight out of strain from all that power syphoning into his frail, mortal form. Shiro just stood and let it Keith take control of it all. By the time Keith reeled back, the both of them were gasping for breath. Shiro straightened up, and ran a hand through his bangs, pushing them backwards. His lips were curled into a smirk at the new, bulky link connecting them. His eyes found Keith's throat, tongue dragging along his fangs as he moved close again...

"Did that help?" Shiro asked in a purr, running his gaze from Keith's neck to Keith's eyes.

Keith nodded, his mind working hard behind his suddenly very tired looking eyes.

"Well then it's my turn," Shiro said, leaning his head down to the fleshy muscle connecting Keith's shoulder and Keith's neck. There was a scar there from the last time, the flesh grotesque and knotty. "Buckle up, Keith. Remember, this hurts."

Shiro sank his teeth in, and enjoyed the treat.

By the time he was finished and vanished from Keith's sight -- still in the apartment but invisible to Keith's mortal eyes -- Shiro's chronic aching had been eased. A very pale Keith was slumped in his bed, weakly trying to stop his bleeding while his eyes scanned the information he had tacked up to his wall about his mother's disappearance. Shiro watched him with amusement, leaning up against the wall as he licked at his bloody lips.

Keith would never find his mother. Shiro knew that for a fact. Nobody knew where she was. Not even the higher up demons Shiro had asked about it. She might have been dead. Up in heaven. Shiro had told all of this to Keith, of course, but Keith still went on. Keith still fought for her. He still damned his soul time and time again for her. He was persistent.

Persistence. Ugh. It simply made Shiro's mind whirl.

\--

Lotor Sincline Daibazaal was in heaven. Or at least... some fantastical place that resembled it.

It seemed almost unrealistic to consider. He'd always assumed that he was never good enough- not enough for his father, his mother, nor the witch that took his mother's place. He wasn't enough for the empire, and he could only imagine he had been that way until the moment he drew his last breath. Opening his eyes once more to a sensation of nought but bliss was new. He could look over his shoulder without being paranoid or overwhelmed with fear. The anxiety in his stomach had settled.

He coaxed long nails through his long white hair, cascading down to his hips. His father used to slice it short, keep him with short hair that never went past his shoulders. Lotor had always wanted to give himself enough freedom to do as he pleased with his hair. He studied his skin and saw no scars, no burns, not even the indication of a wound. Nothing to be bound to his past with. No longer would he resent his reflection for the marks left along his body and the painful memories they dragged along behind him. His eyes were reflected a simple purple, no longer poisoned red, nor with yellow sclera. He was no longer contaminated with his father's past mistakes, no longer poisoned with greed or power that he spent his life rejecting.

When he parted his lips, he spoke freely. He could no longer hesitate when speaking of his past, of how badly he yearned to know of his mother, of how he wished he could have lived a different life. No longer did the fear of punishment diminish his free speech. No longer was he unable to openly reflect his remorse for the life that he was forced to live.

Finally, he was free.

Finally, he was no longer a victim of his father's crimes. Only the memories haunted him, latched onto his form, but they were binds that he found it easy to break free from. They were restraints that he could slip away from, or shackle back around his wrists and his ankles, his stomach and his throat, if he wanted to remember. Occasionally, he dared to. He dared to return to such a trapped mindset, sitting back in the solitude of his room, welcoming the memories he had wanted to forget while alive.

Because here, they meant nothing.

Recalling haunting thoughts of how he was beaten, whipped, degraded and humiliated- it was as if he saw someone else. It unsettled him, giving a stir of discomfort from the pit of his stomach, but... but his skin no longer crawled upon hearing his father's voice. He no longer felt so dizzy with nausea when he was summoned to the main hall. He no longer felt himself twist all of his feeling back, winding them up like a coiled spring, ready to release and spill out every single emotion he had held back. When he watched the memories he had, he no longer felt attachment to them. They were just an accessory. A minor fact about him and what his life had been. They were no more important to him than the creases in his palm.

He could hear hatred in his voice, speaking to the Witch- Haggar, though he never called her that- or to his father. The name 'Zarkon' no longer tasted like bile on his tongue. Nor did any of the names he used to despise so desperately. It was unusual to know that on the screen was his life. That everything he was being shown was something that he himself had experienced. He made notes of each and every incident with his father, with Haggar, with those around him. Though... his memories cut off. Frequently, they would stop and he could no longer access them. There would be a small jolt before suddenly, Lotor would be in another place.

What memories could be so bad in comparison to the flashes of barbaric beatings his father administered?

It may have taken him a long while but he was eventually settled. He had his own area, a private section of a peaceful paradise where he could save souls undeserving of the torment they experienced. He worked on those who had more than enough potential, who were good at heart, but vulnerable to the temptation of evil. His target was a boy named Lance McClain, who was just waking up. This was his first time sleeping peacefully in weeks. He was plagued by nightmares, incessant and unending, that loomed over him as his day went on. Lotor's first step in securing Lance's safety had been removing the nightmare, untangling his mind from the fear that chained him down.

Seeing the relief on Lance's face when he woke undisturbed made the complex operation worth it. Lotor admired him as he slid from his bed, checked the time, and began to dress for school. Lotor wasn't sure how long it had been since his arrival, but he didn't recognise any of the technology Lance used, nor of the clothes he wore. All he knew was that nobody who had posed a threat to him was alive anymore. Nobody was able to harm him. Those who had hurt him before weren't here with him. It was still settling into his system that he was safe, and he didn't need to flinch at every unexpected noise.

He watched as Lance walked a familiar route to get to school, an apple in his bag for breakfast and Lotor had made sure to remind him to get his water bottle. He was nothing but a voice in his head, reminding him of what he had to do and how to do it, so Lance had no idea that anyone was influencing him. It was better that way. Lotor urged him to be careful, to take different routes 'for the sake of it', when there were bullies down an opposing path or something that would cause him to harm himself by accident. He spent every single moment analysing potential threats and dangers to steer Lance away from. Depression clung to his brain, feeding off of his worst insecurities, and Lotor knew how fragile he was. The smallest thing could set him off and make him spiral, so he was careful not to let any harm come to him. His first and only priority was Lance.

He may not have been able to save himself from a life of torment, but he'd make sure that Lance didn't endure anything as hellish as Lotor did. It was his only goal- to save Lance from a life of hell.

He spent each and every second manipulating Lance's day. He would convince him to skip a certain class if he was well versed in what they were being taught. He would convince him to go a slightly longer route to his next class to avoid certain people without Lance even knowing that they were there. Seeing Lance return home without wanting to slump down in bed and just pass out until the following day... it was rewarding. He'd watched one of Lance's regular days before he'd stepped in, and he'd seem physical bullying, verbal harassment, people throwing things during classes and people whispering behind his back. He watched him sitting alone sometimes, with his closest friends other times, but he noticed that he didn't feel like he fit in.

Lotor told him how to engage in conversation. Reminded him of stories that would gain their interest and make him feel included yet again. It was almost three weeks in when Lotor saw Lance walking home with the slightest smile on his lips and his chest felt light, realising how this was working. But Lance was still missing something. Someone.

He'd attempted to do some investigating on who Lance had missed. Someone with dark hair, sunken eyes, and so much tension in his body he looked like he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. Someone who was expelled for getting into fights, who Lance apparently regretted not engaging with well enough. There was no information available to him. Rumours said he strayed too far from the light, that he submitted to the dark promises of demons and was beyond saving. Rumour had it that he turned against friends and family to pursue this dark path. He was unsaveable. He'd given up his soul and succumbed at too young an age for anyone to bring him back.

Lotor decided that this person was better for Lance to avoid and had spent days, weeks, months working to turn him away from the temptation of meeting with this person, but with each little bit of advice he gave, Lance's shoulders would sag a little, the sadness would flash behind his hollow eyes. He would go to sleep and Lotor would have to untangle new negative thoughts from his mind to ensure him a peaceful, dreamless night's sleep.

But one day, he was rendered unable to push this back any longer. Not even his manipulative care could deter Lance from sending a message to the one he missed. He watched him, in a flurry of tearful emotion, as he snatched his phone and sent a simple text. A direct text. An invitation for them to meet up. Half an hour from now, at a location five minutes away. Lotor watched helplessly as Lance pulled on a coat, pushed back the doubt that Lotor attempted to feed him, and left the house by climbing out of the window. He'd never seen someone so determined to ruin their own life that they ignored an angel's calling. And, try as he may during Lance's impatient rush to the park, never once did the man even consider stopping. He never faltered.

He was determined. It was almost intimidating to see someone with such strong willpower. And Lotor didn't like this sudden helplessness he felt. It brought him back to a forgotten time and it took a lot of power to pull Lotor back and fixate his attention onto Lance once more. He didn't want to fixate on the past.

It was his first time experiencing an inability to do anything. He often found it easy to tempt Lance away from evil, to convince him to do one thing instead of another regardless of convenience. Why was Lance so damn determined to make himself miserable by meeting someone who had already succumbed to a demon's call?

Keith was asleep when his phone buzzed, but Shiro made sure upon reading the notification to wake him up. He watched over Keith's shoulders with hidden, glittery eyes as Keith skimmed through the message himself, Shiro's features twisting up with a devilish delight at the soft, crooked smile Keith had displayed. He made sure to keep himself hidden from mortal eyes, but still toyed with Keith's consciousness, whispering in his ear whenever he felt Keith grow reluctant to respond.

A new victim would be nice. Shiro had met the boy who texted, Lance, more than enough times to tell the kid had been desperate — maybe not as desperate as Keith was when he first entrapped him in their dealings, but desperate enough to want something. He could sense the misery, the smell delectable and comfortable to Shiro's demon senses, wafting from Lance whenever he was near. It had been a good long while since Shiro had seen him though... he just hoped the depression just festered into something worse. That's how it usually went with kids like that.

Shiro would get Keith to go to the park, offer Lance a deal through Keith's own lips, and then latch onto Lance. Keith would be easy to kill -- to leave dead somewhere in the park. Then Shiro would have another soul -- another tally -- beside his name. He was close to a thousand of them. A thousand people. A thousand deals. A thousand kisses. Another one of his quotas reached. The thought just made Shiro giddy as he prompted Keith to put on his jacket with more whispers. He'd move to Lance, wring him dry of his soul, and then move onto another.

The life of a demon couldn't get much better.

They would show up late, of course. Fashionably so. Well... Shiro had been the one who was really fashionable. A handsome black suit with red fixtures, the design crisp and alluring. He wore it for Lance -- for when he would appear for the boy after the deal and after killing Keith. One must always put on a dashing first impression... it was simple courtesy, he supposed. Keith, on the other hand, seemed to lack the ideals of virtue and manners of first meeting or late night dates. He was dressed like a fucking drug dealer -- black hoodie, disheveled hair, high, clomping boots stained with caking mud and dotted with the indentations of dog bites. He walked like a drug dealer too, hunched over with shifty, dark eyes as he stumbled his way through the wet streets of their neighborhood.

If Shiro had to be honest, the whole meeting was like a drug deal as well. They were going to meet up at the park half-past eight o'clock at night. Just after a light rain, no doubt. The amber lighting of the street lamps, the dark, grumbling clouds, the distant barks of late night dogs. It was the perfect little drug dealing scene. The only reason Shiro didn't suspect it to be one was because Keith hadn't packed any drugs. He also didn't bring money to buy drugs.

What a fucking loser. Shiro, for good measure, whispered the thought into Keith's ear. Keith just cringed and walked a little faster. The look made Shiro chuckle as he followed close behind, floating idly along, their tether holding him close enough for his degrading whispers and such.

And so, Lance stood at the park, beneath one of the largest trees. He was leant against it, his arms folded over his chest, watching the darkness absently. It was... god knows what time. Lance had left his phone and there were no lights around him to allow him to see his watch. It had to be at least two in the morning. Now, he was just going to wait for him to show up, his mind too absent for Lotor's callings to be registered. He'd been blocked out- Lance didn't want to be helped. He didn't want to be told that this was a bad idea. Lotor could only provide assistance if at least a little fraction of his mind wanted it. Trying to sway Lance right now wouldn't work- he was helpless to do nothing but watch. Perhaps if he had greeted Lance in person, offered his help directly, he wouldn't be in this situation, but... but he hadn't wanted to take that risk. He was going to wait at least another month if everything went to plan.

But... But his duty was to Lance. He wanted to be there for him. He wanted to provide assistance. The one thing that he sought to do was to save Lance from straying down a dark path and Keith might stop him from achieving the healthiness that he truly deserved.

And yet, eventually, Lotor could see a figure on the distance, swathed in a dark aura- the source of which accompanied him. Keith could not see the demon by his side, and Lance was equally as oblivious, but Lotor could see him as clear as day. He was a powerful demon. Lotor could tell by the filthy stench of dark magic he secreted as he floated lazily alongside his victim, dressed in all black. The air about him almost seemed to visibly quiver with disgust, the demon's aura nearly infecting the world around him. Wilting the grass and the flowers he'd grace. Choking the birds and the bugs that would dare to venture close to him with his stench of evil and pain. Only demons with a wide collection of souls could harbor such filthy qualities.

All the hair on the back of Lotor's neck seemed to bristle at the thought.

He was a paler being, so pale he seemed glowing and translucent in the lame light. He looked almost vampiric. The shadows of his face were gray and dreary, the space beneath his eyes being the worst of it. The bags were simply smudges of a deep blue, looking no better with the purposefully smeared mascara and eyeliner. His eyes themselves were simply chilling. The sclera was a deep black -- a shiny crepuscule of ink and darkness. The iris was a white ring of color, shining brightly in the night like an animals. A deep, horrid looking scar, a scar with markings Lotor knew had to have been produced with the weapons harbored in Hell, stretched across the bridge of his nose. More scars crawled down the sides of his neck, disappearing beneath his tux's collar. Smaller horns curled from his short, buzzed hair, turning outwards like a billy goat's. They rose over his combed, white forelock, but only just barely. They were small -- their tininess a sign of lower position in Hell's tyrannical system. A tail, one of a deep, glistening black, curled up from behind him, its pointed end twitching like a cat's, moving as though it had a mind of its own. Both the tail and the horns were detailed with golden fixtures, bits of twinkle and shine giving them a lavish sort of sparkle. Fangs poked out just above the colorless lower lip, and sparkled in the orange glow of the streetlights when the demon offered a mischievous smile.

Long, manicured claws glimmered at him when the demon rose a hand to wave, the gesture cold and cruel, just the mere flick of his fingers cooling the atmosphere a good few degrees. His hands held the marks of those trapped with the bindings of Hell -- circular symbols painted on each dorsal palm with deep ink that would never be removed. If Lotor opened up his senses enough... he could see the chains. The chains of a tortured soul, wrapped up the demon's arms and demons legs -- around his neck and criss crossed about his chest. The chains were faint and just barely transparent -- barely noticeable to the eyes unless one had the keen sense and precision an angel such as Lotor possessed. Lotor noticed the way the demon brandished them and gave a look of disgust before disregarding them with a shake of his head.

He could see the tethers he had to this boy. Red strings from Keith's chest, from his spine, his arms, blooming from his heart and connecting him to the demon that lingered over him, wrapped around and layered about his fingers. The connection was almost nothing to a demon, who could sever them at any time if he decided his reward wasn't worth the effort- but to the human they were linked to- it was everything. It would be their everything until the deal was fulfilled and they drew their last breath, slaughtered by the demon that promised to help them but grew bored.

Demons were treacherous, vile creatures. Lotor, deciding to make it clear that Lance was protected, that Shiro would never get him, appeared just behind Lance, standing almost a foot taller than him with his arms folded over his chest. He watched as the demon noticed him with that wave, but approached regardless. The demon had no need to care about an angel's presence. And so, they both stood their ground.

And, while Shiro stood in his sharp black suit, his hair combed neatly, his general appearance stunningly handsome and his stature demanding attention, Lotor looked much less monochromatic. While he wore a suit, it was white. Laced with lavender details stitched into the fabric, added along the seams. Embroidered along the edges, adding in gorgeous little details, was golden thread. Lotor had a large section of the back of his tailcoat blazer lavender, and along the inside of the lavender detailing was an ornate golden flower, embroidered smoothly and flawlessly. He would have taken the time to admire it if he weren't in such a situation. His long hair, which was now a little past his hips and almost mid-thigh length, had been twisted back into an extravagant braid that hung neatly over his shoulder, down to his stomach. From his spine, two glorious wings sprouted. White, almost translucently so, though accented with long streaks of gold. They spanned almost twice the size of either arm when out fully, but folded up neatly behind his back when not being used. They were truly a sight to see. Lotor was simply beautiful.

His dark skin, accented with such light colours and gorgeous, glowing accessories, made him appear ethereal- though, it wasn't incorrect. He was glowing with gorgeous light, while Shiro burned with the intensity of the sun, his dark energy fuelling his aura. His eyes were accented with little flecks of black eyeliner and golden eyeshadow danced along his eyelids, accented with light hints of a warm red on the outer corner, making the piercing amethyst much more vibrant in comparison. Beneath his eyes, two twin marks were settled. Pink, pastel, and glistening. They curled into an odd shape, ending with small spikes. Marks of the chosen- small markings that highlighted the select few (both angels and demons) with extraordinary power.

Lotor had no typical halo, though, as most most angels would. Instead, he had shattered fragments of a halo that bordered around his head like the reflected the sun. They were sharp to the touch, though, which would prevent Shiro from attempting to steal or toy with his halo. Not that he would have been able to, anyway- his halo was burning hot, far too much to touch. To even get close to. A little safety precaution to keep demons at bay- Lotor didn't feel the heat, but Shiro definitely would. And, just below his halo, a small crown sat on his head. It was only a little larger than a tiara, but it reflected high nobility in his past life. Such was his reward for being the son of an emperor. He folded his arms over his chest, having gorgeous long nails, beginning at a dark violet and fading to lavender. Each finger had a different golden symbol on it. Lotor could admire his reflection another time- right now, his first and only goal was to keep Lance safe from this demon and it's malicious intentions. His aura alone, even from here, was intimidating. Lotor may have been a powerful angel, but Shiro was intimidatingly powerful as a demon.

That changed nothing, though. Lotor had been weaker than his father and most of his father's inferiors- yet still, he found his strength and he fought them off. The presence of a demon, even the attack of a demon, would mean nothing to him. Not when standing before the door to the throne room felt like he stood by the gates of hell, prepared to walk into the mouth of the devil. He had already endured all of the hell he could have imagined. He wasn't going to allow a demon to walk over him now. He would never back down in the face of a creature like that.

"Demon, what have you come here to do?" Lotor's voice came, loud and sharp, as he looked at the creature, watching it approach. Lance had yet to say anything. He hadn't even noticed Keith's approaching. "Surely you are aware that you have no reason to accompany your victim wherever he goes. State your reason for being here, I command you."

"I knew I smelled gumdrops," Shiro groaned, rolling his eyes. He floated down to the ground, easing himself into a stand, the grass around his feet withering and dying at the contact. Shiro walked along with Keith, striding confidently... though his eyes flicked to Lotor's halo from time to time, feeling his system twitch at the bright, burning light it produced. "I don't have to state anything to you, feathers. Run along, why don't you? This is my neighborhood." Lotor kept his eyes on Shiro, brows furrowing, but held his tongue. Stood his ground.

Shiro and Keith stopped. He heard the mortal say something to the one against the tree, something that made Lance turn his head and smile. Shiro disregarded it all though, folding his own arms and cocking his head to the side. Shiro flicked his eyes from the angel to the boy, slowly putting two and two together in his head. His system sank at the revelation.

The angel was powerful. A little more powerful than he was. Shiro could tell by the marks by his eyes. The thought didn't stop him from uttering an animalistic growl, his body going rigid, his tail curling up beside him, twitching like mad.

"Oh. Ohhh no you don't," Shiro said in a rumbling voice, his words deep and powerful, dark magic licking at his tone. "Don't tell me you're trying to save souls around here. That would cause some major problems, buddy."

"I am here to do my job," Lotor said challengingly. One hand settled on Lance's shoulder- a small gesture, but one to show Shiro that he had no intent to back down. "You would not understand, but I've worked hard in order to rescue the soul of this little one, and I refuse to let anyone taint my work. I would not let another angel interfere with my work. What makes you think I would consider letting a demon interrupt it?"

He took a slight step forward. A half step, almost enough to be registered as a threat (or enough, if dealing with an aggressive enough demon). Instead, it was merely provocative. Not enough to authorise a violent reaction. Not enough to entirely prevent one. Shiro took it as a start to something, and bared his teeth, eyes growing darker as he tensed himself up, poised for action. Thankfully, Lotor was civil enough to retreat when he heard Lance begin to speak, and he expected Shiro to back down from the fight as they overheard the conversation. Lance said something about how he had missed Keith, filled him in on a couple of details, told him the names of kids spreading rumours. Something inspired a soft laugh from Keith, stood by Shiro's side, and Lance looked away with colour dusting his cheeks. Lotor's brows furrowed a little. He could not recall what it felt like to experience love, and so he could not recognise what this exchange entailed. He was unaware of the true nature of their... relationship.

This was either easy to exploit, to manipulate, or it was easy to use as a lifeline. Shiro, provided he found the upper hand, could use these feelings to drag Lance down to Shiro's level. Lotor could use them to bring Keith up, and to save him.

Lotor's eye settled back on Shiro and he grimaced.

"Such an undignified display," he muttered, referring to how Shiro's upper lip had curled to show off his sharp teeth. "My job is to save this human. He is vulnerable and he is weak, and I will work to eradicate his insecurities and fears until I have done my duty. I will hope that you don't use your victim as a vessel to attempt to purge the goodness from Lance's heart. Any attempt to taint him will be seen as a hostile attack and treated as such. If you stay out of the way of my work, I will stay far from yours." He offered one hand, simply offering up a truce. "This is an agreement that will benefit us both and prevent hostility. I only hope you have enough sense to accept it. I won't offer again."

A simple deal. They don't interfere with each other's work with no expense to each other. It wasn't a demand, it wasn't bribery. Lotor wasn't offering anything but a mutual agreement on mutual terms. Though... the handshake was where it was lost in translation.

Shiro felt his aggression falter some at the offer of Lotor's hand, his tension slackening, his eyes growing wide. "A deal? Well, if you put it that way..." Shiro's voice had been deepened to a purr of contentment, eyes glittering with their alluring nature as he crept closer, watching Lotor's hand. "You're ruining my Tuesday night plans, but I can find another victim I suppose. I've never made a deal with an angel before... I wonder how you taste."

Upon seeing the shock light up about Lotor's eyes, Shiro let out a raucous sort of laugh, and cocked his head. "Oh dear, you haven't heard of me? That just hurts my poor little heart," Shiro hummed, his tail flicking beside him. Shiro gave Lotor a toothy grin, dragging his tongue across his glistening fangs in a move of intimidation. He leaned forward, despite the brightness of the halo burning at his eyes. Shiro was a little too close for Lotor's comfort, he could tell by the stiffening of Lotor's body. "The only way I make deals is with kisses, feathers. It's how I keep myself one of the icons, baby. No kiss, no deal..." Shiro trailed off, leaning even closer. He lidded his gaze, smirking devilishly. His voice was incredibly honeyed when he spoke again.

"Don't worry, you're pretty enough. I'll bite, but I won't bite hard."

Lotor dropped his hand.

"I refuse," he said sharply, his other hand still firmly on Lance's shoulder. "I don't wish to involve myself with you or your work, and so I offered a peaceful solution or a truce. My refusal to seal the deal in your typical manner shouldn't prevent this from being an agreement."

Simply put, Lotor wasn't going to seal his deal by exchanging a kiss with someone who would sully his touch and defile his reputation. In his eyes, they had shared a verbal agreement, and their deal was sealed. Shiro's thoughts, however, may differ.

Shiro's features turned sour, lips curling into a bitter frown. He moved away, stepping backwards. "I honor deals, gumdrop," he said darkly, the bright of his eyes flickering like a flame when he narrowed them. "You either deal with me properly or you don't deal at all."

Keith had been standing beside Lance, leaning against the tree. They were speaking contently with one another. Smiling. Laughing. Giggling. Shiro paid no attention. He just watched the angel with his dark stare.

Lotor pulled his hand from Lance's shoulder, revealing one string. It was around Lotor's wrist, tied with a neat bow, connecting directly to Lance's heart. A strong connection had already been established, and just from the placement of Lotor's string it was clear that he had a connection to Lance. If Shiro did attempt to steal Lance from him, Lotor would fight with everything he has to keep Lance on track.

"If you cannot honour our agreement, I'll gladly begin converting Keith onto the path Lance is due to walk. Even one mistake will sever our deal. I'm not as patience as many of my... acquaintances, and so I won't endure multiple breaches of the contact. Only one mistake is all I will need to scrap our deal."

He sent a glance to his human as he spoke with Keith, finally seeming to realise the shy behaviour Lance exhibited was a sign of interest. Or, in this case... Lance held feelings for Keith. Interesting.

And now he decided to get a good look at Keith. His hoodie was still up, but Lotor could easily sense the lingering scent of a demon's bite on his neck.

"You've drained him of his blood," he noted, his voice hollow. "He has a dozen strings attached to you already... what have you promised him?" His eyes narrowed, gritting his teeth, his glare fixed on Shiro. "Vile thing. You've filled him with hollow promises for something he can't achieve and when he had nothing left to offer, you drained him of his blood. Have you not corrupted him enough? Have you not already committed him to a life in hell? What more could you possibly expect to gain from him?"

Shiro, already having enough of the angel's degrading quips and snobbery, bared his teeth again as he stalked backwards. "Shut the fuck up," the demon snapped, eyes narrowed into slits. "It's him who begs to deal with me. I try to reason with him but he's too dead set. Addicted to the power I give him. You don't even know what you're talking about... you have no idea what it's like to be me."

The demon made his way to Keith's side, watching the angel with those stalking eyes as he placed his own hand on Keith's shoulder. The boy's face visibly darkened. His eyes grew tired and hollow at the mere contact. Shiro didn't notice any sort of change as he leaned in and whispered into Keith's ear. Keith seemed to understand.

The boy stood from the tree. He looked down to Lance. "I... I have to go," he said. Keith's voice sounded struggled and pained -- his features alive with guilt and his eyes pooling with shame. "I... I'll see you around I guess?" Shiro whispered a sharp repercussion into Keith's ear at the phrase. Keith cringed a little. "Maybe not. I dunno..."

Shiro nodded, and moved back to let Keith say his proper goodbyes, training his focus back onto Lotor. "We're leaving," he grumbled darkly, tail flicking when the two words snapped past his lips. "You're lucky it's not new moon. If it was, this would have gone a lot differently. For you and your pathetic human..."

He gave a huff, running his eyes up and down the angel's boy. There was still easy darkness within him. He smelled the promise of Hell just faintly through the springy air of the night. "Hell has him already," Shiro murmured quietly, cocking his head. His malicious tone had soothed into one of curiosity. "I can smell his sins... You have to work harder, feathers. You just barely got him."

"Don't speak to me of my work, demon," Lotor ordered sharply. "My human has strength and I'll do whatever it takes to unleash that strength."

Shiro rolled his eyes, and mumbled a quiet little whatever. He turned around on his heel and starts walking, lifting a hand and tugging at Keith's bonds like they had been a leash. Keith seemed to writhe at the feeling and, after saying another rushed goodbye to Lance, stumbled along after his demon, unknowingly being pulled around by his own sins and his own mistakes. When Keith had gotten to Shiro's side, Shiro pulled his feet from the ground and began to float, twirling backwards so his back arched him upside down, bangs hanging towards the ground as he peered back at the angel who watched him. The halo burned, and Shiro muttered a silent little curse before curling back up into a normal position, tail flicking angrily behind him.

The two disappeared in the shadows of the night.

Lotor's glare followed them until he could no longer see them. Then, finally, he turned his gaze to Lance, under the tree. He cupped his cheeks, looking at him tenderly. Lance couldn't see him, but Lotor took advantage of Lance's current state to pour positive thoughts into his mind. Hopeful thoughts, optimistic. Encouraging him. Telling him to get back home, to get plenty of sleep tonight, that he had earned it. And Lance let out a quiet sigh and turned, beginning to trudge back home. All the while, Lotor pursued him, manipulating him to taking alternate routes that would avoid trouble. He helped Lance back through his window without stepping on the loose tile and slipping. He guided him in, and brought him into bed, where one of his cats was waiting, curled up on the pillow. Lance settled down, brushed his fingers through her fur. He mumbled a quiet 'I love you' into her fur, telling her about his day while she purred softly and butted her head against his hand.

And soon Lance was asleep in bed, curled up. Lotor set the alarm for him, as he had forgotten to, and tucked a few schoolbooks into his bag that he would need the next day. And now, sitting on Lance's desk, he began to contemplate what Shiro had said to him.

'You'll have to work harder, feathers. You just barely got him."

Hm.

Perhaps he would.


	2. Rendezvous

Shiro had a little place he could call his temporary home on Earth.

He didn't need it. Of course Shiro didn't need it. He could have lived with his victims, jumping from home to home, from the life to life while he moved about Earth completing his mission. He didn't need sleep. He didn't need to eat or drink anything besides the occasional couple sips of blood for his pain. He didn't need personal items or personal luxuries — he wouldn't be able to bring them back to Hell with him whenever he would return. It was all useless to him...

But he liked it.

Beside, it gave Atlas a place to hide.

The Hellhound had jumped up in clear excitement when Shiro appeared, her long, spiked tail wagging about in its destructive path. Deep, rumbling barks that grated out from her chest echoed about the empty facility, the edges of the echo whispering with her own dark magic distorting the sounds. Shiro stepped over to him, and patted her head. He didn't know how he felt about leaving Atlas all alone in the large, abandoned warehouse for too long... mortals couldn't see her, but she could most definitely see them. Getting in trouble for accidentally sending uncondemned souls to Hell wasn't really anything Shiro wanted. The thought made his skin simply crawl.

He was unbuttoning his dress coat, feeling bitter and off from all that snobbish talk from that angel back in the park. Shiro was in his physical form — his coat and shirt solid as he slipped them off onto the floor. They would vanish when he felt it fitting for them to do so... but for then the mess was fine. Shiro traveled to the mirror set up by the side of a rickety old mattress he found in the dump around eighty years ago or so. The mirror was cracked and grimy, but Shiro didn't exactly care all that much. As long as he could look at himself.

He wanted to know just why that angel regarded him with such disgust.

Shiro looked fine. Same as always. Each scar was in place and each mark of the damned still inked about his skin. Shiro studied them for a moment, running his hand up the pitch black prosthetic by his side. That was newer — maybe a hundred years old or something like that. It glistened like the shell of a beetle, it's dull shine reflected from its smooth, agile surface from the spluttering lamp that hung from the ceiling. He had gotten it from Sendak after presenting him with two thousand souls. He hadn't been hoping for a new arm — he had gone centuries in Hell without one having lost it sometime when he was above the Earth's crust — but instead had been aiming for a promotion. Sendak dismissed his request, gave him a new arm, and told him to come back when he had another thousand.

Shiro gave a huff at its appearance, looking at the clawed fingers with dull interest. It's marks of Hell had been white instead of black. It shined and shimmered with them, along with all those gold fixtures both his horns and his tail presented.

At least Sendak was consistent. And stylish. Shiro had to give him that.

Moving back to Atlas, a powerful hound made of muscle and slick, black skin that ripples with power and magic, Shiro gave a sigh, and slumped down next to heron the floor. He hung his head back, giving a long, annoyed sort of groan.

"Would you be interested in eating an Angel, Atlas?" Shiro asked, peering at his companion through the corner of his eyes. "I'm sure that would be one special treat..."

Atlas looked at him with thoughtful, blood red eyes, and whined a little in response... Shiro could tell she wasn't too opposed to the idea.

A demon and his Hellhound have a special bond. They can communicate... mostly only through subconscious thoughts and feelings, but enough to get points across. A demon's Hellhound can feel its master's pain -- if a demon were to get hurt in battle, their hound would know. It can heal simple wounds with its tongue, and ease pain with its mere presence. No connection could amount to the closeness of a demon and his hound. Not the angel's fancy soulmates nor the human's weak excuses of familial bonds. No -- nothing. Nothing is as strong... nothing is as important.

Shiro knew that for an easy fact.

Shiro was given Atlas as a pup nearly a thousand years ago when he was first out on the job of collecting souls for Sendak. It was only a good two thousand years or so after Shiro had first been put in Hell. Of course whatever fragments of their beings left were instantly stitched together with a bond most unbreakable... but Shiro felt as though his connection with his Hellhound was different. More special. He didn't kick her around or yell at her like Sendak did to his own hound. He even let her kill some of his more exciting victims instead of taking all the fun for himself -- a Hellhound's true purpose is to kill, of course... it would only be immoral to keep Atlas from having his fun. Shiro also felt bad about leaving her alone for too long... guilty, even, if a demon could feel such a thing. A week would pass and Shiro would take a break from his work just to check up on the very self sufficient hound.

If Shiro were to die, Atlas would die. If Altas were to die, Shiro wouldn't, but he would certainly feel the gaping absence in the very core of his being. Shiro had been told it was a fate worse than death, losing a Hellhound that has been stitched to your soul. Every time Shiro found himself curiously mulling over the subject, he would shiver. He didn't quite know if he could handle that hole inside him. That loneliness.

Atlas was all he had.

Shiro, groaning to himself, scooted backwards towards his stiff, springy mattress, and collapsed backwards onto it -- sighing deeply as he settled into its uncomfortable form. His scars were hurting. His chest ached. Shiro closed his eyes and pinched his nose up into a pained sort of cringe, trying hard to soothe away that buzzing about him with his willpower alone. Shiro needed more blood. He was growing antsy for it... he itched for it. His whole system whispered weak begs in his ears for more of the thick liquid of life.

God! If only that prissy little prick hadn't been there. Shiro would have a new victim to leech strength from. A new soul tucked under his belt of many. He couldn't take any more blood from Keith. Not only was it growing boring to him, but Keith was already far too weak from the last two times. The boy was already anemic and underweight when Shiro had first found him... one more time would certainly kill him. At least hospitalize him -- which was a mess Shiro didn't have the care to bother with. Keith couldn't die until Shiro had another human to take hold of, and he had lost that chance just an hour or so ago...

Well... he hadn't lost the chance completely...

There was no deal. Shiro had nothing keeping him from Lance aside from that fucking angel -- and feathers wouldn't be there all the time. Even if the guy had been persistent in observing his weak little mortal, he could do nothing to stop Keith. As far as that angel was concerned, he had an agreement...

Shiro sat up quickly, a mischievous plan running neatly through his brain, being worked at by every gear and every mechanism. A smile tugged at his lips as he thought, eyes sparkling in the dim lighting. Atlas felt Shiro's sudden feeling of evil hope, and let out a soft little howl, tilting her head up towards the ceiling as she let her blood curdling chorus cry free from her muzzle. Shiro laughed along with him, pushing up from the bed into an excited stand.

"I'll get Lance," he told Atlas with confidence when she had stopped those howls of encouragement. "He's as good as mine. Feathers doesn't know who he is dealing with."

New moon was in two short weeks. Keith and Lance would meet plenty of times in that simple little interval. Shiro would corrupt him one date at a time, and then the second he would have the power, he'd snatch the boy from that angels's grasp with the ease of the Devil himself. Shiro let out another laugh at the thought.

The look on that angel's face would be worth it all. It might have been even more valuable than Lance's stupid soul.

Since the encounter with Shiro, the vile creature, Lotor had spent every second accompanying Lance. Even if the human was entirely unaware of this, Lotor didn't want to lose his first assignment. Much less to someone like him. Lance's soul had so much potential, and the last thing he wanted was to let some demon whisk him away because of it.

He'd woken Lance up a couple of minutes before his alarm, guiding him out of bed. He watched as Lance tugged on his clothes and combed his hair. He sent a glance to his phone, but he didn't have any new messages. Some flicker of hope that Keith might have messaged him back was smothered immediately. Lotor wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not.

The thing was that Lotor knew that he couldn't trust Shiro. The demon had proven himself to be a threat. He'd even directly threatened Lotor, claiming that if it was full moon, the meeting would have 'gone differently'. Such toxic behaviour was vile and only kindled a flickering flame of rage in Lotor's stomach- but he was quick to suppress it. Such poor emotions weren't accepted. He didn't want them anymore. Instead, he had decided to fixate his attention on Lance. He made sure his morning ran smoothly- that his siblings stopped playing their game before one of them lost an eye, or an argument boiled up. He stopped the cat from dashing across the hall and tripping Lance up.

Everything needed to run smoothly. Lotor wanted to instill confidence in Lance. He was keen on building him up. He made sure that every time Lance looked in the mirror, he told him that he looked good. Complimented his eyes, his complexion, his hair. Whatever. He just made sure that every time Lance caught his gaze, something nice came to mind before negativity and toxic thoughts began to swarm. He could see it have a slight effect each time. It was reassuring. He told himself that Shiro had just been trying to corrupt his thoughts, that he didn't know what he was talking about. He was just being hopeful. He wasn't going to let some demon corrupt his thoughts. Not now.

But he couldn't stop thinking about it. Not for more than a couple of minutes at a time. He'd stop, falter, worry about what would happen if he and Shiro met again. What would happen if they met on a new moon. What would happen if he pushed Shiro and Shiro ended up lashing out. And every time that he distracted himself and pushed the memories back, they would return a few minutes later and flood his mind all over again. He hadn't been in such an intense state of paranoia since he'd been alive.

He guided Lance to school, helping him avoid certain people by taking shortcuts. He kept a watchful eye out, stopping Lance from tripping or stumbling and constantly making sure his bag was zipped up or that his pens didnt fall through the holes in his pockets. He needed a new jacket, but Lance could never get himself out of the house to go get one. He was always saving his money 'for a rainy day' but never spent it on the necessities. He never spent it at all, and Lotor had yet to discover a reason tucked away in his mind for why he refused to spent it. Eventually, a minute or two before the bell, Lance arrived at school.

His day was miserable. It was noticeably less so in comparison to how rough his days often were, but that didn't mean that he didn't get things thrown at him, that he didn't already know the topics and end up getting in trouble for failure to focus. It didn't stop him from storming out of one of his classes halfway through the day despite Lotor advising him against it. And, at the end of the day, Lotor couldn't stop him from responding to Keith's message.

It was an invite. Simple and direct and so clearly devised by Shiro.

"Meet me after school" it read. "I'll walk you back home." Simple. Earnest enough to not be detectable as a trap. Not for someone else, but Lotor knew this too well and now he was going to have to save Lance from the hold of a demon.

After his plan had been formed and completed to perfection in his mind, Shiro had gone back to Keith to get it set and rolling in motion. It was him, of course, who convinced Keith to see Lance again. He needs protection, Shiro had whispered to him pressing a hand to Keith's cheek to turn his head to look at his phone. He needs you to take him home. He needs you Keith. Go to him. Help him.

He was much gentler with Keith than usual. Whether it was his giddy contentment with the plan, or his plain and simple want for everything to go right, Shiro made sure his urgings were softer and more cautious. More sincere and more easy toned. Shiro helped Keith get dressed in nicer clothes, comb his hair back into a loose bun, and even brush his teeth and wash his face a little before letting the boy pull on his old boots and walk out by himself. Shiro floated beside him, feeling uncomfortable in the light of day, but not so much he felt discouraged from his important plans.

Shiro spotted Lance in the parking lot, and he alerted Keith about him right away. He chided Keith softly, telling him to stand up straight. To walk with purpose and pride. Keith followed these instructions, his brow furrowed with his own concentration. Shiro grinned as he floated alongside him -- noting the glowing nature of the angel beside Lance as they drew closer. Hopefully Keith's appearance would fool Lotor into thinking the action was genuinely Keith trying to be a better person... Shiro made sure to look as unwilling and upset as possible as he made their ways forward, purposefully catching Lotor's eyes with his glittering arm. Shiro watched the slight interest spread across Lotor's smug face when he caught sight of it... the expression almost made Shiro's fake frown falter.

Then Lotor's attention shifted and his focus was back on Shiro's features. He didn't vocalise his intrigue. He had to focus on the matter at hand.

"I'd known you were behind this meeting," he said sternly. His voice was loud, commanding. For anyone who cared, it would have been very authoritative. "What do you intend on doing? I told you that I wasn't going to give you any second chances."

Lotor was stood beside Lance, who looked up at Keith and turned a very deep shade of red.

"Th-Thanks for coming to pick me up," he said shyly. Keith smiled and said it was nothing, or something like that. Lotor had stopped focusing on them. His eyes had fixated on the male opposite him.

"Do you simply have no respect for deals? Are you above them? Do you see yourself as a superior, demon?"

Shiro grit his teeth at him, rolling his eyes. All his amusement had left the mere instant the angel had opened up his stupid mouth. "Jesus, would you shut up already?" Shiro snapped, floating down so he just barely hovered over the ground, legs bent, posture slumped and tired. "This was his idea. You really think I'd willingly submit myself to the sound of your infuriating voice?"

He turned his eyes to Lance and Keith, watching them talk for a few moments before turning his eyes back to the angel, getting his dark stare ready for some more pouting. "Do you have to stay by that kid's side all the time, gumdrops?" Shiro asked, his voice low and lame and tired. "You're really killing my whole vibe here. Can't say the pure light of an angel's fucked up halo is doing any good for my complexion, if you know what I mean, feathers."

"And I wish I could say that an immature demon was doing any good for my patience, yet here we are," he said sharply. "I'm keeping Lance company to prevent you being alone with him. You're a malicious creature with no concern for anyone but yourself and I've dedicated myself to saving at least one soul from your corruption."

Lotor didn't have time for Shiro's immaturity. The insults, snipes and jabs, every malicious little comment wore down Lotor's patience. He refused to react to them in the way he could only imagine that Shiro wanted him to, but he had to admit that he was still low on patience and growing more irritable with each use of the name 'feathers'.

"My name is Lotor," he finally said. "Lotor Daibazaal. My name is neither 'feathers' nor 'gumdrop', as you seem to enjoy calling me. I don't know your name, and so I call you demon. I don't call you 'horns', nor 'creature', and so I expect as least a little civility in response. I only hope that basic respect is not too much to expect from you."

Today, Lotor wore an outfit more of lavender and violet than of white. It made him a little less blinding, though that was also due to it being late midday instead of during the middle of the night. His hair was in a less extravagant braid, one that went down to his hip. He had a small pink flower, similar to a lilly, worn as a brooch on his blazer.

Shiro smirked. "Go ahead and call me horny if you want to," he said with a chuckle, unable to bite back the little quip. "I'd like to hear that, buttercup." The words met Lotor's ears and he responded with a grimace.

He floated down to the ground, touching upon the pavement of the school parking lot. Shiro folded his arms over his chest, and cocked his head. "If that makes you uncomfortable, you can call me Shiro," he muttered, tossing his bangs to the side. His eyes were dark as he tilted his head forwards, peering up at Lotor from behind his mischievously cocked brow. "Black Paladin of Darkness, at your service. Sorry we skipped over the introductions the other night. Some feathers were certainly ruffled. Wasn't the right atmosphere."

Keith and Lance had begun walking down the black pavement of the parking lot, making their slow ways over to the sidewalk, each chatting contently with one another as they meandered forward. When Shiro turned to look and follow, weightlessly lifting off from the ground to catch up, he noticed a sort of blue aura wafting from Lotor's boy. A feeling of bitterness clouded the atmosphere about him, the scent just simply delectable. With Lotor so far behind, Shiro was able to get close enough to discreetly whisper a little hello to the boy -- making Lance tense and whip his head around. Shiro retreated quickly though, not wanting to take any chances with an angel during daylight. He floated backwards, belly up to the sky like he floated in water, continuing along lazily beside Keith, tail flicking with each step of his vessel.

"Are you coming, twinkle toes?" Shiro called back. "Your boy is kinda vulnerable all alone up here with me." Lotor, his eyes narrowed, stood on Shiro's left, between him and Lance.

"Don't utter a single other word to him, Shiro. He isn't your and there isn't a place here for your interference," he hissed out, baring his teeth as an accompaniment to the sort of threat. Shiro may have been discreet enough when saying whatever he said, but he'd noticed how Lance sent frequent paranoid glances behind him and there was only one person that he could blame for that.

And yet, he strode ahead, keeping his head high and one arm around Lance's shoulders as he reassured him.

"There's nothing there," he murmured softly. "You have nothing to worry about. You're safe." A satisfied smile curled onto his lips as Lance's shoulders slumped and he offered a small, timid smile, beginning to ask Keith about how his day was, how Kosmo was, just starting up a conversation. Lance never usually started conversations, so Lotor's plans seemed to be working. He smiled, a little pride swelling up in his chest as he glanced at Lance. Then his eyes turned to Shiro, his expression soured, and he averted his eyes.

Shiro caught the sourness with a giggle. "The only reason your boy doesn't have anything the worry about is because my boy is here," Shiro said with mocking pride, sticking his chin up a bit as he spoke. His eyes glissed to Keith, sparkling a little at the look upon his vessels face. Oh, all of that was going to be so much easier than he thought.

Throughout the walk, Shiro only managed to slip in the littlest of influence. He made Keith curse here and there. He had Keith walk with a little more slump in his shoulders and bored swing in his step — an action Lance subconsciously mirrored. He drew Keith closer to the topic of his own non-existent virginity, and then the two were foolishly giggling about sex in no time — the conversation making the angel look a little sickly. Shiro did this all discreetly, though, which was a little infuriating. Whenever Lance would swear, or give a chuckles remark about the girls he once banged, Lotor would shoot Shiro the sharpest of gazes. Shiro just shrugged, and went back to looking uninterested.

After a while, the boys had stopped. They stood in front of a smaller looking house — the place poor looking and old. Shiro instantly recognized it as Lance's. He could smell the boy's scent there, and then the musk of his family dwelling there as well. Shiro sniffed the air deeply, and then cringed. A large family. Full of love. Full of caring.

The feelings that resided there in that house made Shiro groan. He rolled his eyes. "This place smells awful," he grumbled, reaching up to pinch his nose, lips drawn back in a fanged sneer. "Alright Keith. Get this over with. I wanna go."

Upon hearing his name from that subconscious voice in his head, Keith tensed, his whole system growing nervous. Keith closed his eyes, shook his head, and began to take slow, dragging steps backwards, his eyes on Lance.

"I'm gonna... I'm gonna go," he muttered. "This was nice though..."

"'Let's do it again sometime...'" Shiro whispered into Keith's right ear. Keith visibly slackened with relief.

"Let's do this again sometime. Tomorrow?"

Lance looked up at him, suddenly grabbing Keith and pulling him in for a hug. He was quiet for a few moments, before his body began to tremble and tears began to well up in his eyes. His breathing was shaky as he pulled back, rubbing feverishly at his eyes while Lotor sent a sharp glare at Shiro. Shiro just watched, his eyes wide with a curious sort of stare, head cocked as he watched the boy break down.

Maybe this is gonna be easier than I thought.

"Yeah," Lance nodded quickly, glancing at the door to his house."Yeah, tomorrow's perfect. Definitely." He turned to the house and began to his door, pulling his hood up a little to hide his current shameful state from Keith's eyes.

Keith reaches out for Lance, starting to call out with the first bubbling sound of a word, but Shiro quickly stopped him. He grabbed onto Keith's upper arm, the touch so tight and demanding it spread about real, conscious pain about the muscle and nerves about each spot Shiro's fingers dig into. He whispered a harsh don't, and tugged on him. Keith listened reluctantly, his head turned and watching Lance stalk away as Shiro tugged and pulled at his arm.

They were gone in a matter of minutes, turning around the corner and making their quick way back to Keith's apartment complex.

Lotor followed Lance, watching as the brunet unlocked and opened the door, sending one glance over his shoulder and waving at Keith before disappearing inside.

Lance was the first one home, as he always was, so he kicked off his shoes and stormed upstairs, throwing his bag down onto the floor in his bedroom. Lotor watched him as he tried to take deep breaths to calm down, or tried pacing, or something, before eventually just slumping down on the bed and sobbing. Something about this day had been pestering him. Shiro's presence left him feeling anxious, nervous, incompetent- and that was without even being spoken to. He sobbed, grabbing at his hair and tugging it while he choked and sobbed and trembled. He needed someone. He needed someone to be with him and provide support and Lotor... he wasn't supposed to, but he wanted to be that someone.

And so, as Lance was sobbing and choking on his words as he cursed himself and wished he was better, Lotor perched on the desk and welcomed the feeling of reality. Unlike before, he could now feel the air hitting his skin. The shadows from the window cast upon his form. He no longer felt like an accessory to the world, an apparition, but the soft glow emanating from his halo stole up Lance's attention. The initial reaction was fear. Raw and unfiltered at the intruder appearing in his house, beside him in his bedroom. A loud scream and a string of curse words before he processed that this figure wasn't going to hurt him. He panted, sitting up. Lotor watched patiently.

"Wh-What the fuck are you?" he asked worriedly, wiping his eyes a little. Lotor offered a smile.

"That's not relevant," he said softly, seeing how Lance's eyes widened in recognition upon hearing his familiar voice.

"Y-You're the little voice! In- In my head! I'm going crazy, aren't I? Oh god, I'm going insane." He picked up Blue, his cat, and set her down on the bed in front of him, watching as Lotor held out a hand to the animal. Blue sniffed at him, letting out a low meow. If Blue could see him too, then that provided Lance with a little reassurance that he wasn't going totally insane.

"No, I must admit that I'm very much real. You should be happy to know that you are not going insane." Lotor moved to the bed, gesturing for Lance to sit down with him. "Tell me what it is that ails you. You're at conflict with yourself but I can't see why."

And so, despite the absurdity of the situation, Lance did end up telling Lotor about the recent events with Keith, giving him a personal perspective on the matters and a new understanding on how to influence Keith away from evil. His aura was calming, and although Lance had never seen him before, something intuitive told him to trust Lotor and to tell him everything- so he did. And Lotor listened, offering advice and support, and honestly telling Lance about how close he was to getting passage into heaven- yet how easy it would be for him to succumb to hell's temptations. He even hinted at the existence of Shiro without giving the demon away, telling Lance that an 'evil presence lingered over Keith'. When the door opened to signal that one of Lance's siblings had arrived home, Lotor ensured Lance that he would still be here to listen if he needed to get anything off of his chest before, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. And now... Lotor had something to discuss with Shiro.

He needed to figure out what direction their deal would take from here.

Shiro floated home with Keith, and slipped inside of the apartment with him, simply floating through the solid of the door when Keith had slammed it. They went inside, Keith sitting at his little table and Shiro floating his way over to the couch. He settled down on it — not really feeling it because of his form, of course, but able to release the tension of magic that pooled in his stomach whenever he would float. Shiro watched as Keith sat there, the boys head in his palms, his elbows on the table. His eyes were thoughtful but... he wasn't looking at the mirage of his mother's mystery.

Shiro's brow furrowed.

He called out to Keith to eat something, muttered a goodbye, and decided to leave. Shiro was bored. He vanished out into the street, took his physical form — feeling the wind gently caress his features and the pavement feel hard and sturdy beneath his feet — and then masked his odd appearance with magic. To him, he remained the same, but to any passerby human, the horns and the tail would vanish. The eyes would melt into grey irises with a regular white sclera. His fangs would stay, as would his markings and his strange, unsettling aura, but anything too out of the ordinary would slip any mind of any mortal. Shiro, only feeling the tiniest bit strain of that magic on his system, continued on forward in a peaceful sort of stroll.

He sniffed the air, let his senses travel. He smelled the foul sense of humans and all the dirty deeds of their past and their present and their future... but he also smelled nature behind that. He smelled the grass and he smelled the bark of the trees and he smelled the sweet wind that would rustle the wet leaves of springtime. Shiro continued on down that path, eyes closed, head tilted up as he sniffed at the world around him. Despite the enjoyment such a small little action could bring, it was rare he'd think about nature...

The smells always reminded him of something. Something he couldn't think of. Something he'd lost long ago.

Something sharp entered his nose — sharp and powerful and dominating. Shiro stopped short, his eyes snapping open and his head straightening forward as he looked around. At first he thought it might have been another demon but... the magic he smelled wasn't dark. It was a bright sort of magic, Shiro could tell by the familiar way it burned his nose. The hair on the back of his neck bristled, and Shiro poised himself for action, clenching his fists. It was light out — his power wouldn't be at its finest — but Shiro didn't care. He whipped out his snarky command through his lips and his gritted teeth as he ran his gaze about the light suburbs around him.

"Alright, feathers!" he shouted. "Show yourself. I know you're here!"

Lotor had been walking alongside him for a few moments now. Undetectable, just getting a feel for Shiro's aura and energies- supervising him. When he heard Shiro's call, though, he let out a frustrated sigh and released the energy the kept him concealed. After that, he felt the flourish of energy that masked his appearance. He had no scars to hide, nor any horns or unpleasantly glaring eyes, so he didn't need to alter his appearance that much. The most effort was taken in concealing his halo- which was still remarkably easy.

"I'm surprised you noticed," he stated bluntly, leaning back a little to step out of the way of a poorly aimed punch. Such impulsive creatures, demons. Leaning in on his natural fighting instinct when he heard something unfamiliar or out of place. "I wouldn't have expected you to." He settled back on his feet, glancing around. "You left the human boy at home. What was your motivation for that?" He took a few steps forward, the same direction as Shiro had been walking, and gestured for the demon to walk alongside him.

He was simply curious. His question wasn't supposed to seem accusational or malicious. He didn't want to get on the wrong side of someone like Shiro, not when their... 'relationship' was already so fundamentally flawed. One wrong word could make Shiro launch into violence, or some flurried attack. "And please be aware that I'm only interested in starting a civil conversation. I'd appreciate it if you could respond without resorting to malice."

Shiro growled at him, straightening back up with a scowl. He kept his fists balled, readying himself for another attempt for attack. "I could smell your perfume from a mile away," Shiro snarled, glowering at the angel before him. "I was tired of babysitting. Not that you would understand. You just love getting in everyone's business, huh?"

He turned around on his heel, and kept on walking the very opposite way of Lotor, huffing as he went. He didn't have the patience to deal with that Angel and his questions. His nosiness was nearly infuriating, his persistence — that awful quality! — nearly migraine inducing. Shiro walked quickly, hoping Lotor would just get Shiro's obvious want for being alone.

He didn't.

"What the hell are you doing here anyways?" he asked, hearing the dainty footsteps from Lotor on his wake. Shiro shoved his hands into his pockets. "Aren't you too busy stalking that human boy? What makes you wanna creep on me all of a sudden?"

"I'm curious to hear about a lot of things related to you," Lotor defended as he caught up to Shiro, striding alongside him. "I can see your binds to the human. You already have all the permission you need to snatch his soul and kill him- he has nothing to offer but blood that you could take anyway. Why do you let him live if he'll only be unhappy?"

Lotor didn't understand demons. He never understood people who subjected others to consistent misery for no reason but convenience or dominance. He may not have been entirely a saint when he was alive, but he wasn't one to inflict wounds upon people- emotionally or physically- that would affect them for the rest of their life. His father hadn't followed the same principle, nor had the witch Haggar, and it was possibly what made him stick out the most in comparison to his family. He was the only one of them who had ended up in a truly better place.

Perhaps if he were still alive, if he still divulged in feelings of resentment or bitterness, he would feel that they deserved such torment. Perhaps, somewhere deep down, he still did feel this way.

"Do you have a plan, or are you just taking amusement from forcing others into toxic situations? Is there something amusing about watching them fight so desperately for their life or pleading for a glimmer of hope so desperately that they turn to measures such as..." he sent Shiro a glance. "You? Because if there is, I fail to see it. I simply want to establish a better understanding of our two worlds. I refuse to have my knowledge based solely on the Angel's prejudice."

Shiro stopped short, shooting Lotor a harsh look. "There's plenty of reasons I do what I do and I don't owe you any of them," he said darkly. Shiro continued walking, trying to loosen the tenseness of his body.

"He's looking for his mother," Shiro muttered after a stretch of silence. "It's why he keeps making deals with me. I give him dark magic to help him search... I was giving him more time, but he's never going to find her. I was gonna kill him the other night, move onto Lance. But then you ruined everything, so I guess the poor bastard gets a little more time."

The demon gave a harsh sigh when he finished, flicking his eyes to Lotor beside him. "Does that answer your question, twinkle toes?" he said with a sneer, cocking his brow. "I'm getting tired of all your sparkly morals. In case you forgot, I had my soul tortured out of me. I literally couldn't care less."

Lotor glanced over at him, studying him for a few moments before averting his eyes, brows furrowed.  
"Yes," he muttered a second or so later. "That did answer my question. I appreciate the honesty." He thought for a few more moments, wondering what exactly he could ask next. His braid sat draped over his shoulder, and he began to undo it and braid it again as some kind of a habit. He mulled over any other questions to ask. All of the information he had been told about demons seemed to be coming true and it was infuriating. He wished he had only been told lies about their species, that he couldn't just assume that they were vile and toxic because that was what he heard- but Shiro wasn't disproving it.

"And what do you do?" he asked shortly. "Is this the only job you have? No other assignments or options?"

Sure, his prior question had been answered, but his curiosity was insatiable. He was eager to learn- it was one trait of his that had definitely transferred from his prior life to this afterlife. He was still strongly against prejudice and stereotypes, which was a strong motivator for his asking more about Lotor. He had heard a lot about demons and he wouldn't believe what he heard until it was proven or he had a demon vouch for its honesty. Shiro was finally his opportunity for that and... and yet, nothing seemed to be going in favour of the demons. Lotor could at least vaguely recall being treated poorly for being a part of the Galra empire. He didn't want to return the favour with demons just because he had switched sides.

It all depended on perspective. To the angels, what they were doing was necessary and good and the demons were doing something evil to oppose them. To the demons, he was sure that they believes that their work was best or righteous or... something similar.

"Do all demons do similar work?"

Shiro shrugged his shoulders. "Depends," he muttered quietly, kicking a stone. It skittered across the sidewalk, jumping and hopping with soft clicks until it rolled its way to a stop. Shiro watched the stone with his eyes, intending on kicking it again once he reached it. "My job is to collect souls. Some demons torture. Some demons overlook everything. It all really depends on what level you start at and how you work your way up."

He didn't know why he was explaining all of that to Lotor. Shiro didn't exactly want to give Lotor the satisfaction of getting it out of him... but he was never asked such intrigued questions. The curiosity fueled a strange sort of pride somewhere deep inside of him. It left Shiro's tongue and lips eager to boast.

"I'm pretty high up. Highest level of soul collector. I only need two thousand more souls and then I don't have to collect anymore," Shiro hummed. They made it to that rock again, and Shiro kicked it. It hit the outside of his toe and went flying out to the side, into the street. Shiro gave a gentle sort of laugh at the clatter it made. "That's why I think I'm gonna drop Keith soon. I just wanna get my debt done. Doesn't help when angels try and mess it all up, you know?"

Lotor just nodded, listening to each word. He gestured and the rock, still skittering, fell to a stop a little bit before hitting someone walking past. He turned his eyes to Shiro.

"So you're willing to subject two thousand more people to the same torture you've been through to put yourself in a better position?" he asked, frowning, his eyes fixed on Shiro. He wasn't going to judge or shame Shiro for it, no matter how selfish it seemed to him. He didn't know the intensity of the torture Shiro went through. He didn't know how badly self-preservation would establish itself. He didn't know how anything worked for demons, so he definitely wasn't in a place to presume it was selfishness and move on.

He scanned the nearby area. It was mostly deserted around here. "Are you aware of how many souls you've collected so far? What reward lies ahead of you for collecting more? For our work, we don't receive rewards. We're told that saving lives is rewarding enough, however it does establish a lot of authority and bring admiration for those who are more capable than others when it comes to saving souls. No rewards means that we don't demand or expect moral dessert. We do what's good because we want to, not because we expect to receive something as a reward."

Shiro scowled darkly. He took Lotor's wording as an insult to him and his own morals. Shiro kept walking though, sourly looking for new stones to kick upon the white paved pavement. "You do what you have to do, feathers," Shiro muttered uncomfortably. His scars burned and itched beneath his clothes. Shiro's next blink lasted a little longer than it should have, his nose scrunching up for an instant before he let his face and features relax. "I've got about eight thousand under my name. Ten thousand and I get a nice, comfortable spot down in Hell for the rest of eternity. With no pitchforks and chains or anything. Pretty peachy for a demon if you ask me."

Another victim encountered Shiro's path in the form of a piece of children's sidewalk chalk. Shiro kicked it, listing to its hollow clatter as it flew, the pink cylinder breaking in three splintered bits upon landing. Somehow, he didn't find the destruction so entertaining. The frown remained... as did the pain of his scars.

Shiro really did need to get a hold of some blood soon... he let himself grow addicted after two drinks in one month. Shit. Dealing with that was going to suck.

"Did you really track me down for a life story, or is there something else you want?" Shiro grumbled, stopping. Lotor stopped with him, his plain, simple features making Shiro's skin boil.

The prettiness of Lotor's eyes didn't help at all either.

Lotor's eyes met Shiro's and he frowned, arms folding over his chest.

"My plan was simply to get to know you better, as both a demon and yourself," he said as he stood a little straighter. "I tire of hearing people tell me of how all demons are the same, with the same morals, the same plans, etcetera. You grow tired of the patronising comments made toward demons for no reason aside from the horns on their head. I wanted to know if what they say is true, but I'd wanted to hear it from a demon- not from yet another angel who hadn't encountered one in their life."

He studied Shiro, noting his body language. The way his brows furrowed, the tension in his shoulders and the paling of his knuckles when his hand curled. Shiro was frustrated, thought Lotor couldn't tell why. He could almost sense the anger radiating off of Shiro, but he did not address it. Mentioning Shiro's anger could lead to an outburst, so he would just keep quiet for now. He noted the way he grit his teeth, the hunger reflected in his eyes. Something clicked.

"Addiction." The statement was simple, though accusational. "You drank too frequently, didn't you? Too much, too frequently, and now you seek more of it. You can't take more without killing your human. He'll need at least eight weeks, sixteen at maximum, before you can feed from him without it being fatal. What do you plan on doing?"

It was so clear that Shiro had made mistakes. It was even more clear that Shiro wasn't going to admit to making a mistake like that. He could see the tension in Shiro's body increase and he frowned a little. What was he going to do now? He was hoping that the demon wouldn't overreact- not in public.

Shiro seemed to almost grit his teeth harder. "That's none of your business," he said quietly, breaking their stare. His eyes found a green piece of chalk. Shiro placed his boot over it and crushed it with his heel, feeling the thing pop and crackle beneath the pressure. "I'm not addicted to nothin'... why do you have to act like you know everything?"

He gave a huff of a sigh, scouring the ground for more chalk to break or stomp or kick. The angel was getting under his skin. He didn't know how good they were at sniffing out pain and sin... it made Shiro want to get away. Get away quickly.

But something... something made him stay... something about that stare Lotor had on him. Something in his eyes that made Shiro want to finish the conversation out. Something about his presence in Shiro's bitter peripheral had him open his mouth and spill out the next collection of sentences.

"Human blood helps with pain," Shiro confessed, blinking a little at his own stupidity. Shiro cringed a little, looked up to Lotor, and noticed his quaint little smile... he gave an angry huff, targeted a blue chunk of chalk, and stomped on it angrily -- blue powder exploding from his heel. "I don't normally drink it but the kid was begging me to take something from him. I've drained him twice this month. Once too much."

"Twice too much," Lotor said softly as he averted his eyes. He had listened intently to Shiro's words, though, beginning to understand what was going on a little better.

Shiro gave a harsh scoff and crushed a yellow chalk. "Says the guy who doesn't know what real pain feels like," he muttered.

His eyes stayed on Shiro for a few more moments before he let out a soft, bored sigh.

"What are we going to do? Our situation with the humans is complex and I don't want to risk conflict with you because of it." It was only fair for him to be at least a little open after getting so much information from Shiro. It would establish trust, ideally. It had to be mutual, though, or all trust would falter and shrivel and die. Lotor was well educated in this- it was base level manipulation, though the word had negative connotations. He met Shiro's eyes again, studying the look in his eyes. "I don't want to be at odds because you seek to turn my human from me while I want to save your human from you. Why do you find it so difficult to make a deal that would benefit us both?"

Despite his pouting, Shiro felt his eyes twinkle a little at the word deal. Just the mention of it saved a white piece of chalk from its powdery doom. He turned around, and cocked his head at Lotor, mustering up a smirk. "Number one, I wasn't the one who declined the proper deal, for one thing," he said, rolling his eyes. "Number two, I'm not doing anything with your human. Keith might want to do a thing or two-" Shiro paused to give a childish snicker at the implication despite Lotor's grimace, "-but I could care less about the kid. Not saying I'd complain if he somehow ended up in my part of town after he dies, though."

Shiro turned back around, and found that piece of chalk again. He kicked it into the perfectly trimmed grass of the house they stood in front of, watching the white clump of chalk bounce through the vibrant green. When he ran out of chalk to kick and crush, Shiro scuffed at the sidewalk chalk drawings -- ones obviously made by some sort of child with their simply horrid designs -- with the toe of his shoe. He kept his attention far from Lotor.

"Here's what we can do, handsome," Shiro started, feeling his brow furrow for a fraction of a second at that odd little pet name his lips had produced. Lotor didn't react to it. "Leave each other alone. You stay out of my hair, I'll stay out of your braids..." There was a long pause as Shiro considered the danger for himself at his next few words. The danger of his plan...

"If you want to protect Lance, keep him away from Keith," he muttered. It was an empty bit of advice due to Shiro's own wants and Shiro's own objectives, but he gave it anyways... though Shiro still couldn't tell why. "If you can't, whatever. But Keith isn't gonna last much longer. Even if I don't kill him, the magic he's using will. Don't wanna go breaking his poor old heart, do you?" Lance didn't respond for a few moments.

"I will keep distance between them," he said decisively. "But that means that you need to stop encouraging Keith to contact Lance. No more walking him home. No more midnight texting. They must stop talking to each other if this is to work."

He took a step or so back, gesturing and making the chalk drawings fade, moving over a few squares so that Shiro could no longer scratch at or scuff them. "The proposition makes sense. The pros and the cons balance. I can tolerate Lance's mood dropping for a few days while Keith stops talking to him. I can comfort and reassure him." He nodded a little. "Yes, this would work. Then it's decided." He moved away and sighed a little, the strain of having to keep his natural form hidden beginning to irritate him.

It wasn't too difficult, and it wasn't actually affecting him, but it was noticeable. It was like having an itch on his nose- that was how it felt, anyway. Not anything overly inconvenient, nothing too difficult to deal with, but it was noticeable and it was there and it frustrated him. "If this conversation isn't complete, would it be possible to go somewhere more remote? I've not been able to develop my capabilities and so keeping up this human facade is more vexing than it should be."

Shiro was going to tell Lotor to screw off after the first part of his annoying little statement, but the last part of it seemed to perk up Shiro's interest. "You haven't developed your capabilities?" he asked, incredibly intrigued. "But those marks. On your face. Aren't they supposed to mean you're, like, super powerful or something?"

Lotor's eyes widened a little at the mention of the marks. He didn't think demons were aware of what the marks meant. "They reflect power, yes. I had power in my last life, and I was highly educated. I am supposed to have power in this life, too, but I haven't been able to develop my abilities. I've done research while I've had my breaks in supervising Lance but I haven't been alone for long enough at once to be able to focus solely on developing it. I know what steps i need to take to improve but haven't been able to take them." He brushed his fingertips over where the mark would normally be on his left cheek. "I doubt that I would have had the marks if my mother weren't so powerful and knowledgeable. She harnessed more knowledge and harboured more power than I could imagine."

He caught himself after a moment, his eyes flickering to Shiro as he averted his eyes. "Apologies, I'm not sure where that came from. I promise that I don't usually begin to ramble like that." How humiliating, opening his mouth about his time on earth to someone who could use it as ammunition if the chance came up. How foolish of him to run his mouth, even if only accidentally.

"It's fine," Shiro said, looking away. He had to suppress the grin he felt tugging at his lips...

So feathers isn't as powerful as I thought?

 

Shiro shoved his hands into his pockets, and looked around. "If keeping up the illusion is too hard for you, just abandon your physical form," he said, rolling his eyes. He felt just fine with his disguise -- trickery and deception were some of the simplest forms of magic a demon could harvest. Shiro had been able to alter his appearance into whatever he did please ever since he had first crawled out of Hell as a fresh, three-hundred year old demon. Keeping up his illusion was nothing. "I'll still be able to see you."

Bitter about Lotor taking away some of those chalk drawings, Shiro began morosing his way forward again, continuing his stroll. He pulled his foot back a bit on the sidewalk -- eyes focused on a rock perfect for kicking -- but then he caught a slight scuttling of something black and fast from his peripheral. A fat beetle went running across the sidewalk, its movements fast and hectic, as all insects' are. Shiro, interested, brought his foot back and lowered himself to his knees. He reached out a hand and, tentatively to make sure the thing wouldn't die at his touch -- luckily his power was too dampened by the light of day -- scooped up the thing. It crawled circles around his hand, Shiro guiding it with his clawed prosthetic whenever it tried to venture too far up his wrist. Shiro gave an amused little huff, watching it go. He pretend he didn't feel Lotor's curious gaze from behind him.

Lotor watched him, a little apprehensive to let such a vulnerable creature be held by Shiro, but it wasn't his place to intervene (not when the bug wasn't actually in that much danger) so he just kept quiet. He studied the bug, though, and the childlike amusement that shined in Shiro's eyes when the beetle moved or crawled from one hand to another. How peculiar. Lotor had to admit that the last thing he'd expected was for Shiro to have sympathy for any creature- much less one as small as a beetle. He had, for a few moments, succumbed to the rumour that demons could feel no liking or love, so seeing a beetle enrapturing Shiro was quite a relief. It proved the malicious rumours wrong.

Finally, he found his voice.

"Is there any reason why this beetle caught your attention?" he asked, his eyes fixing on the small insect. A small and amused smile curled onto Lotor's lips. "It's exoskeleton resembles your arm."

Shiro's slight grin faded quickly at that know-it-all voice. "Yeah, it does," Shiro muttered, nodding. "I just like the color I guess..."

A few moments passed, and Shiro felt Lotor's gaze itch at his skin. He guided the beetle down to the tippy tops of his finger with his prosthetic and then gently placed his hand on the ground. It took a little coaxing to get the beetle off of him, but when it did finally crawl from his hand, Shiro wiped his fingers off on his shirt and stood. He then continued on with the kicking of that rock, the little pebble shooting for forward down the stretching pathway. Shiro listened to it clatter until it stopped, and then turned to Lotor.

"I should go check on Keith," he said with a sigh. "He gets into trouble when I'm not around, which sucks because I love watching him get in trouble." Shiro, sarcastically, rose up his hand in an attempt to mimic Lotor's actions from the previous night. "Well, feathers, it hasn't been fun. Talk to you never, hopefully." He began to bring his hand back down, but was stopped rather quickly by the angel before him. Lotor had taken his hand, smiling a little as he shook it- oblivious to the fact that it was a mocking gesture. Well, either oblivious or entirely aware and only doing this to tease Shiro.

His eyes locked with Shiro's for a moment as he shook Shiro's hand, releasing it a second or so later and straightening up again. He maintained eye contact, though, trying to figure out Shiro's moods and almost attempting to understand what thoughts might have been going through his head as he took a half step back. Shiro's emotions seemed to be conflicted, shifting frequently, so Lotor couldn't quite figure out what expression he was looking at before he was seeing a different one reflected in Shiro's grey eyes.

"Hopefully," he echoed with a smile. Ah, definitely teasing. "Good luck dealing with Keith and try not to kill any beetles."

Lotor pulled his hand away and, smiling warmly, turned to walk away. His physical form was gone now, meaning that he no longer needed to disguise himself. He walked some ways down the road, but the second that Shiro blinked- he was gone from sight. Off to supervise Lance or practice developing his abilities or whatever else.

Shiro looked down at his hand, swallowing very hard at the ghost that resonated there against his skin. The ghost of an electric pulse -- one that had shot through him and the nerves of his palm and his fingers the moment he had touched Lotor. The past feeling buzzed about the muscles of Shiro's hand like static... a comfortable static. It was an exciting sort of bliss that left Shiro's eyes wide, peering down at the open hand before him...

What the hell was that?

Scoffing a little, Shiro wiped his hand off on his jacket. It was the magic. Of course it was. Shiro had never been in any sort of contact with light magic in his life as a paladin of darkness. The idea he'd been so enraptured by it almost made him gag.

He let go of the magic concealing his true form, his horns appearing, his eyes changing, his tail curling up and around his side from behind him. Shiro, still wiping off his hand, turned around on his heel, building up the magic that would then flip him from his physical form into his magical one. Just before Shiro let himself slip, however, his eyes traveled downwards and met narrowed, bright blue ones.

"Did you step on my chalk?" the little girl asked, her tone defiant and angry. She seemed to take no notice of Shiro's appearance or the aura of darkness that swathed the atmosphere around him. All she did was scowl, and cross her arms. "That's mean."

Shiro watched her for a moment, dumbfounded. She was nearly five or six... maybe seven. Her little nose was scrunched up, and her brow had been furrowed with frustration. Shiro blinked -- once, twice. Then he shook his head clear of its shock, and knelt down, getting eye level with that strange little girl.

"Well," he said slowly, tilting his head to the side. Shiro's eyes flashed with mischief. "I'm mean."


	3. A Strange Date

"What the hell, Shiro? I've been calling you all night."

Keith paced back and forth in his small little living room, rubbing his arms, scratching at the back of his neck, running his hands through his long mess of tangled hair. Shiro had just appeared to him, standing before a poorly constructed ritualistic alter, fitted with the skulls of cats and the legs of crows and the blood of a virgin -- all those sorts of stuff used when dealing with the wicked and the sinful. Shiro folded his arms as Keith attempted to scold him with that angry tone and that infuriating pacing. His arm was cut and bleeding rather profusely -- Shiro could smell the delectable irony scent even over the incense and the clear rot of sulfur. Shiro watched the pearls of crimson bead about Keith's forearm and slip down to his wrist, dribbling over the carpet.

What a waste.

"You should bandage that," Shiro muttered impatiently, cutting off one of Keith's rambles.

Keith stopped short and whipped his head around to look at the demon. "Why didn't you come when I called?" Keith asked desperately, ignoring Shiro's advice. "This is important."

"I was busy," Shiro said.

He wasn't. After his short and rather amusing conversation with that fierce little girl -- one where he was certainly schooled on the manners of sidewalk chalk art -- Shiro had simply gone to his warehouse, and curled up beside Atlas on his springy, uncomfortable mattress. Sleeping helped him push aside the pain. It also helped him push aside his cravings for blood or... or his newfound craving for experiencing whatever it was that brief touch of light magic did to him. Shiro had slept, waving away at those stupid little calls Keith so desperate offered to him until it became so simply infuriating Shiro had to shoot up and appear before him. The pentagon in Keith's house made it possible for Shiro to teleport from his own rusty abode to Keith's trashy one in a snap of a finger.

Keith disregarded that statement too. "I need more magic." He was always one to cut to the chase quickly. "It's on the tip of my tongue, Shiro. She's right there-"

"Keith," Shiro started tiredly, his shoulders slumping, his head lowering down a little on his neck. 

"She is right there. I can feel it-"

"Keith." Shiro's voice was sharper.

Again, disregard. "I just need to question some guys. But your last dose ran out. I just need a little power to show them who I am. To show them they have to tell me-"

"Keith!"

The house trembled -- shuddering as if had been receding on itself in its own fear. The degrees plummeted. The atmosphere promptly died. Its body hung heavy in the air just as the echo of Shiro's shout had, its eerie presence dampening Keith's frantic and excited aura like a cap upon a burning candlestick. Shiro uncrossed his arms, hand curled into fists by his sides.

"I'm not doing this again," Shiro said darkly. "I've given you enough. I've taken enough. You have nothing valuable to offer."

Keith fell silent, turning his gaze to the floor. "I have blood," he murmured.

Shiro grit his teeth. "I don't want your blood," he muttered in a snapping sort of tone -- his words crackling as if they'd been pure electricity... thought not the kind from Lotor's hand. No. No, it was the kind that snapped and popped and fizzled and burned skin off muscle and burned the flesh and muscle off of bones. Shiro watched as his fatal tone got to Keith, eating at the boy's former confidence like worms would a corpse. "If I drained it again, you would just die, anyways."

Keith looked up at him. "Maybe I'd have more luck finding her if I was dead," he said, bitterness lacing his tone. "You're no help. Maybe when I'm a demon I can finally do it the right way."

"Are you asking me to kill you?" Shiro's voice remained the same. It might have even grown more dangerous. "I will. With a snap of my fingers I will..." he trailed off, narrowing his eyes, shaking his head. "You'd forget her in an instant. No one remembers anything in Hell. No one."

Silence met that. A deep, deep silence.

"Don't call me again," Shiro said after a long while. The blood was now creating a fine, sodden pool of crimson about Keith's carpet. "I will collect your soul when I best see fit. Live your life the best you can, Keith Kogane. Your days are certainly numbered."

"You can't do that!" Keith cried. "You can't just whisk me away! If you're not gonna help me I... I want my soul back!"

Shiro scoffed. "No refunds," Shiro hummed. "Told you that the first time we met. No refunds."

"You're an asshole!" Keith roared, pointing his bloody finger at him. The anger fizzled out as he watched Shiro turn away, quickly bleeding into desperation. "Wait! Wait, wait! Please. I'll do anything. Anything. Just don't leave me. Please!"

Shiro, half turned, felt himself scour bitterly at the boy's persistence. Shiro looked over his shoulder at him and, seeing Keith's twisted face and pooling eyes, decided to test how far the limits would go. "Anything?" he asked smartly, cocking his brow.

"Anything."

Slowly, Shiro turned his body back around. An idea formed in his head quickly, spreading its nefarious tendrils about Shiro's brain as the vines and the leaves unfurled themselves from its core. His tail flicked and whipped about behind him in curious excitement. "Will you corrupt Lance McClain for me?" he asked in a drawl. "Do your best to try and drag him down to Hell with you? Without my influence?"

Keith's face drained of color. He watched Shiro for what felt like minutes. What felt like hours.

"Yes." The dry word climbed from his throat in the most reluctant of manners. "Now come over here so I can kiss you already."

~~~

Lotor sat beside Lance, a dull glow emanating from the halo resting above his head, his eyes gleaming a little in the late evening light. It was late summer, nearing winter, and the sky was lit up with a gorgeous array of golden, orange, pink, and the little hints of purple that married into blue as the sunrise died away into night.

Conversation between them had sparkled, fizzled, and died. Lotor would attempt to ask about school, or home life, or anything that might spark a conversation but he already knew everything. He was already aware or everything that had happened to Lance or what his family was like or- or what was going on in school. Lance would give a closed answer, followed my some sharp remark like 'but you already knew that' before he would focus his attention on some sketch he was working on.

Lance had attempted to ask questions, too. All day. He'd sit at his desk and write out on a spare piece of paper some simple question. Lotor would scrawl down an answer that only Lance would see, but it was usually short. Abrupt. There were too many rules in the afterlife for Lotor to give honest answers about anything he asked. His responses would either be vague and long or simple and direct, or he'd simply leave a beautifully written 'Sorry, it's classified information'.

When neither of them had no more topics to discuss, they had fallen silent- until Lance's mind was struck with a thought.

"Are soulmates real?" he asked, leaning back a little. His gaze fixed upon Lotor, who was currently perched on the desk beside him. Lotor was in his regular getup, dressed to impress (though he didn't have much of a choice) with his markings on display. From the gentle touch with Shiro's hand, even as brief as it had been, the drops below his eyes had elongated a centimetre or so. He hadn't noticed.

The question caught his attention, though, bringing a warm smile to his lips. His eyes fixed on the floor.

"Soulmates are complicated. They always have been. Some say they are real, but some say that they can't be. Some find soulmates during their life and some don't discover their soulmates. Others reunite in the afterlife. Your soulmate could have been your friend for years. They could walk into your life tomorrow. They could be a pet, or a person, or a character you create. Anything that your soul bonds to could be considered a soulmate."

Lance watched him as he spoke, his eyes wide, fascinated. The childish glimmer in his eyes made Lotor's smile widen ever so slightly. He couldn't quite recall the last time he'd seen someone so infatuated. So, he continued.

"I was familiar with someone who had their soulmate as a character from a book series. They had related to them so much, sought comfort from that character so desperately, that they had a special connection with them. They carried the books around with them whenever I saw them. I once met a man who had bonded so strongly with his cat that she was his soulmate, always draped around his shoulders or stood by his feet. Another time, I-" and he continued.

The conversation lasted for almost an hour of Lotor mentioning all of the different types of soulmate pairs he had met, and Lance would ask questions about each and every one of them. Finally, though, Lance thought of something and he spoke up. His eyes were sparkling with intrigue.

"Do I have a soulmate?"

Lotor turned to him, met his eyes, and that was when he noticed it. The determination, the optimism in his eyes. Seeing the sketch on the table, it all sank in so suddenly.

The sketch was of Keith. The illustration on the table was clear as day- a little sketch of Keith that Lance had spent the last two hours perfecting, shading, adding each detail- the redness under and around his eyes, the little scar that ran over his left eyebrow from a fight he had gotten into recently. The sharpness of his jawline- each little detail. Lance's eyes were sparkling, fixed on Lotor, eagerly awaiting his response.

"Lance," Lotor began, not wanting to build him up to be with someone who he couldn't afford to be with. "Everyone has a soulmate. Whether it's a close friend, a work of literature, a character, a pet- everyone has one. You do too. And believe me, I wish I could tell you who it was but all that you need to know is that you do have a soulmate."

Lance was still grinning, his eyes shining excitedly as he pinned up the completed drawing of Keith and got to his feet.

"I hope I know who it is," he said softly. "I hope it's who I think it is."

Lotor's eyes just wistfully settled on the floor, hoping that it wasn't who he said it was.

Lance's phone buzzed, catching both of their attention. Lance was home on his own today- his mother was visiting his uncle and had brought along the rest of the family. When offered, Lance had declined, having too much schoolwork to take time off doing this. He looked at the screen and picked it up, his expression softening as he read the name on the screen. 'Keith Kogane', accompanied by a small fire emoji and a red heart. He wanted to come over. Lotor's brows furrowed as he saw the text- Shiro had agreed not to influence Lance, not to let them be around each other too much. What had happened?

"Lance, I don't think that this is best," he advised softly. "You stayed here to revise and study. You have a chemistry exam tomorrow." Lance sent Lotor a look before picking up the phone regardless. He read over the text again.

"Can't study now, cupid," Lance said with a soft smile. "My soulmate awaits."

His eyes were fixed on the simple message.

"can i come over??? i wanna hang out. figured we can order take out or smthn"

Keith had typed out that message with dark, guilty eyes as he sat alone in his dark bedroom. Shiro watched him, curiously pacing back and forth in his invisible folds of reality. He wasn't going to chip in any sort of decision or influence... no, no. Keith was going to all the dirty work — and Shiro would simply sit back and watch the chaos unfold. That way he didn't have to risk going against Lotor and his light magic. That way he wasn't technically breaking that deal of theirs — that deal that really wasn't even valid due to Lotor's snobbish refusal from those few nights before.

He hadn't exactly expected Keith to jump into action so soon. Usually Keith spent nights where Shiro would infuse the boy with magic cooling down and collecting himself — it was a lot to take in, of course. Especially after being to weak with the blood loss and the other dealings. But... that night Keith had gone straight to work. He bandaged up his arm as soon as the kiss broke between him and his demon, and then snatched up his phone to devise his message and his plan. Shiro watched him go with dull interest, his eyes widening a little at the bold start.

Shiro couldn't tell whether or not he wanted Lance to say yes... as much as he wanted to get everything rolling and set in motion... he didn't really want to see that angel again.

Oh, not after that touch. He certainly didn't want to see Lotor again...

"Sure. House is empty, we can do whatever." Lance's reply came after only a few seconds, sounding surprisingly casual for someone so eager.

He was immediately at his feet, making the bed and picking up dirty clothes from the floor. He didn't want Keith seeing his room in such a state and he only had about fifteen minutes to tidy up everything that he could. Lotor watched him with a worried gaze, his brows furrowed.

"Lance, do you truly think that this is the best choice? For you? For- for your future?" he asked worriedly, getting to his feet. Lance looked over at him.

"I'd rather see Keith than study. Unless you can use some of your 'magic' to clean up, I don't want you helping me," he muttered as he shoved the dirty clothes into the hamper in the bathroom. He'd entirely forgotten about the drawing that he had pinned up already, focusing his attention solely on making sure that his room would be presentable for Keith.

He snatched his phone from the desk.

"What takeaway r u feelin? we can get w/ever but if i order it now we wont have to wait as long. I've got plenty of money so we can have w/ever u want." Keith hadn't replied to his initial text, but he had read it so Lance just assumed he was getting ready to leave. Lance reorganised his bedside table, tucking away his medication into a drawer and burying it under some of his colouring pencils and full sketch pads. He reached out for the jar on top of his wardrobe and his hand closed around a jar. He pulled it down, taking out about thirty dollars and setting them on the desk before pushing the jar back again, keeping it out of sight. It was an emergency fund, but he could dip into it a little. For Keith. For him and for Keith.

He brushed out the bed, opening the windows and spraying a little air freshener. It was around eight in the evening, and it was still warm outside so Lance didn't need to fuss about his room getting cold. He just wanted everything to be as close to perfect as possible. That was all that he cared about. Now he was only waiting for a text back, sitting on his bed, his room sufficiently clean.

A simple "chinese," was Keith's stout little reply. He looked at the single, blunt little bubble, and frowned, guilt bubbling in his chest.

"but u can get what u want. i'll eat whatever. i'll pay you back too"

Shiro grinned when Keith clicked off his phone and stood in search for his jacket. Shiro let him dress himself, and govern himself, and walk with his normal posture. He said nothing — he simply watched Keith go on with it. Shiro was completely silent as he followed Keith through the front door, floating alongside him, eyes crackling like fire in the night.

"K", Lance's message came through. He ordered almost all $30 worth of food, smiling fondly as he set the money down by the door for whenever the delivery man arrived. In the meantime, he was anxiously toying with the hem of his shirt and wondering how far away Keith could be. The park was only five minutes from Keith's, and ten minutes from Lance's. Surely he had reached the park by now? He sent a glance to Lotor, who met his gaze with sympathy before averting his eyes and disappearing. He was still sat there, of course, but Lance could no longer see him.

Suddenly feeling a rush of anxiety, Lance went downstairs to get some plates, cutlery, and two glasses. Then- just in case- he dug out a bottle of Jack Daniel's that his family had long forgotten about, taking them upstairs. He didn't plan on anything going as far as them getting drunk, but if it did happen... he wouldn't really complain. It was a Saturday tomorrow, anyway, so anything that happened tonight could be cleared up tomorrow.

Lotor watched as Lance set everything out- then panicked and reorganised it. He watched him flick on the fairy lights he had, before worrying that Keith would find them childish and pulling them from the walls to stuff under the bed, the batteries removed. He watched as Lance closed the doors to all of his siblings room and reorganised his books, cleaning everything up. He just wanted to occupy himself with something to do while he waited for those fateful knocks to his door.

Shiro's influence on Keith was rubbing off onto Lance. The white glow of Lance's soul was tainted with a little black dot. It wasn't much, it would be easy to smother out, but... not if Keith was going to be making frequent visits. He glanced nervously at the sketch on the wall. It wouldn't be if Lance continued to invest so much time into winning Keith over. If Lance continued to indulge in these feelings he had, producing works of art to link to the subject of his current infatuation.

It was worrying, how easily his power over Lance could slip away. He didn't want to lose something that he had worked so hard to gain.

The only time Shiro had to intervene was when Keith hesitated to knock on Lance's door.

Keith had walked all that way by himself. He took every turn and every path that he needed to take by himself. He had spotted Lance's house by himself and he had walked up the cement pathway that cut through the green grass — green grass that was twinkling with dew and moonlight — of the front lawn. Keith had clomped his way up the wooden porch with those disgusting boots of his and raised his fist to deliver a short rap of knocks all by himself...

But then his body when rigid, freezing up just before his knuckles would hit the wood.

Shiro waited a bit for him. He gave Keith a minute or so, watching him — the impatience beginning to fester and burn in his system. As the seconds ticked past... as did Shiro's personal promise not to interfere.

Knock. The whisper was sharp. Keith jumped at the sound, and his fist pounded against the door — rapping against it quickly. Desperately. Shiro smiled, and then leaned back in his floating pose, crossing his arms.

When the door opened, it only took a simple second for Shiro to recognize the face of Lotor peering over the eager Lance's shoulder. It wasn't hard to produce a scowl at the sight of him. Shiro gave a toothy sneer, and rolled his eyes.

"Well, looks like neither of us got what we wanted," he muttered darkly. "Believe me. I tried to talk him out of it."

"I'm sure you did," Lotor's voice came as he watched Shiro, Lance smiling upon seeing Keith. He gestured for him to come in, asked how he was, if anything had happened since earlier, how Kosmo was.

He was soon taking Keith up to his room, insisting that the meal was on him and that Keith didn't need to pay him back. He sat down on the bed, waiting expectantly for Keith's opinion or some kind of statement or even nothingness- just no negative statements about his room. He just stayed quiet and waited for some form of a reaction. The food would be here soon- he wouldn't need to feel so awkward about being around Keith for long. Hopefully.

Keith simply gazed around in an interested wonder, taking note of all the... all the things Lance had. Keith forgot what it was like to own so much. He'd given everything up for money or for knowledge or for magic... the sight of such a normal life with such a normal, happy room was enough to make his head spin. Keith found his eyes meeting what at first appeared to be a mirror but... but then it wasn't. Enraptured, Keith made his slow way to the pencil drawing tacked to the wall, his eyes wide and face white at the precision and the beauty of such a simple little sketch.

"You drew me," Keith mused, looking over his shoulder.

"O-Oh, yeah, I- I'd meant to put that somewhere else before you came here, I was just..." he couldn't find the words, shyly averting his gaze. "Sorry if it's weird. I just... I was a little frustrated and I started drawing to calm down and it ended up being you."

Keith smiled at him, and shrugged his shoulders a little. "It's cool, Lance," he said, nodding. He made his way towards the bed, and sat down beside the stuttering, blushing Lance. "I think it's neat."

"I- Th-Thank you," he said softly, shifting a little closer to Keith.

Shiro watched the two humans speak to one another, watching their soft gazes and hearing their friendly voices before he became bored. Lazily, he floated over to Lance's desk, idly looking through some of the lush, green succulents Lance had lines up at the windowsill. Without thinking, Shiro curiously went to touch one. A black, rotting spot of mold and death quickly spread from where his finger had brushed against of of the succulents pretty branches, and Shiro drew his hand back fast. His brow furrowed and his lips downturned themselves into a frown at the way the plant seemed to pucker and fold in on itself, dying in an instant.

His power was strong that night. The moon was hidden by thick, grumbling rain clouds that growled threateningly from their place amongst the sky, nearly ready to release a mighty downpour. Shiro only let himself feel guilty for the plant and its wilting for the splittest of seconds, before he turned around and settled his feet down upon the plush carpet, leaning back against the desk in a lackadaisical sort of manner. He flicked his eyes to Lotor, a joking smile splaying about his cheeks.

"You wanna maybe tell your vessel to save some of that Chinese for us?" he asked, his loud voice drowning out the chattering conversation of the two humans. "I haven't eaten human food in a while. Wouldn't hurt to steal an eggroll or two, would it?"

"Or perhaps we could leave him to have the food he orders," Lotor said as he approached. He pressed his fingertips to the succulent, letting it linger for a few moments before the life began to return to the plant. His eyes turned to focus on Shiro. "But if you're so desperate for it, I could ask him to save a little something. I don't think that I have eaten before- not human food nor angel food." He pulled his fingers back, the plant flourishing and looking much healthier than it had done before. Shiro watched the succulent restore its natural color and grow itself back into its previously lush nature with that curious twinkle in his eyes again, his stare following Lotor's hands as the angel pulled them away.

He turned his gaze to Shiro. "So... what exactly happened? You told me you would keep Keith away from Lance. You have an influence on him, so you could have stopped him and you know that. What part did you play in bringing him here? What reason does he have to be here?"

Shiro gave a soft little scoff. "I never said I was gonna actively try to keep him away," he said, rolling his eyes. "I told you to keep Lance away from Keith. If anyone here is failing to uphold promises, its you, gumdrop."

With a sigh, the demon pushed up from his lean against the desk, and wandered out into the middle of the room, running his gaze among all the trinkets and pictures and drawings. He lifted his arms over his head, and stretched out his back, before lifting a hand to his mouth to yawn. "I'm not doing anything to Keith," he said with a shrug. "No telling him where to go or what to do. I could have stopped him but... where's the fun in that? Happiness is what you prissy halos are all about, right?"

"Yet here you are, encouraging him with his poor habits and choices to involve himself with Lance. It's not a matter of fun. It isn't a matter involving fun." He snapped his fingers, revealing Lance's aura to Shiro- the white glow around him and the little splotch of black. It had grown now. "It's a matter of whether or not this human has to endure an eternity of torture. Your choice to turn it into a game shouldn't put my work at risk."

Shiro's eyes widened at the brightened display, his head tilting to the side. He was drawn towards the light, gaze trailing down to that spreading ink blot of blackness. The sight made him blink a little, entire system piqued with interest and the desire to know more about how quickly evil could spread through such a lightened, pure sort of form. He reached up his hand to touch it, but his fingers simply slipped right through, the aura rippling as though it had been some sort of liquid, the white veil wrinkling like thin silk in the air.

Lotor simply watched Shiro's movements, cautious, ready to stop him before he did anything. His view of Lance returned to normal as the doorbell went off and Lance disappeared downstairs with a promise to be back soon. Lotor didn't follow him, staying with Shiro to make sure he didn't attempt to influence Keith.

Frowning a little at the disappearance of Lance's aura, Shiro spun around again and began to look for things to interest him. Twice he found himself wanting to return back to the succulents, but three times he found himself a bit drawn to Lance's art hanging on the walls. He stepped over to the sheets of sketch paper, ignoring Keith and ignoring Lotor as he ran his eyes down each and every little drawing or painting or even doodle. His eyes dragged themselves to the desk as he peered about some of Lance's open sketches, brow furrowing as he felt his gaze latch upon a familiar face scribbled out in simple pencil at just the very corner of the drawing desk...

 

"You showed yourself to him?" Shiro asked, straightening up. He tore his stare from the drawing of Lotor to Lotor himself, watching the angel's face deepen in color. "I thought that wasn't allowed for you guys. At least that's what I've heard... why go and screw with the rules, huh feathers?"   
"It's not common, and it's not an approved method of getting through to the humans, but Lance needed support and I couldn't leave him in such a vulnerable state with nobody to rely on. Also, what was the point in me telling you my name if you still insist on calling me such insulting nicknames? I don't draw attention to my wings, I don't refuse to call you by your name, but still you refuse to refer to me with mine." He stood from the work desk, approaching. "Why?"

He wasn't sure why it tested him. He couldn't blame it on past habits- being called insulting or degrading names during his life- as he didn't carry any of those emotions with him anymore. He simply wanted mutual respect with himself and Shiro, and this refusal to call him by his name broke down their trust before it got the chance to build back up.

Shiro looked at him, and offered a slick sort of grin. "Because it ticks you off," he said, offering a scandalous little wink. "I like the way it gets under your skin. Just makes my pointless little day."

Lance had come back into the room, and Keith had greeted him -- helping him carry all that food back to Lance's bed. Shiro let his eyes follow them, and then watched them for a good few seconds before turning back to the glaring Lotor. He strode forwards, stopping just short of the angel, and looking up into his narrowed, scrutinizing eyes.

"Why do you let it get to you?" Shiro asked, cocking his head a little. He felt magic hum from the angel before him -- buzzing like stadium lights. It made something in Shiro tick, his silly grin fading into something much more sour. "Why do you take anything I say seriously? I'm below you, aren't I? Just some dirty little insect who wasn't worth an afterlife in Heaven?" His tone grew a little more poisonous, eyes darkening, tail flicking about beside him. The light in Lance's room flickered just a bit, the temperature lowering a good degrees or so. "I mean nothing to you. Stop acting like you care."

The room went back to normal, and Shiro backed off, spinning around before Lotor could answer. He deliberately turned his back on Lotor and focused back on the succulents again, being sure to just look and watch them. Shiro had gotten a little too close to Lotor -- both his feral instinct and his addiction to Lotor's magic had caused a sort of rift in his cool, collected demeanor. Shiro shook his head to himself, gave a low, barely audible growl, and tried to distract himself with the pretty pattern on one of Lance's cacti. Rain pattered the window beside the line of plants, the world outside nearly pitch black aside from the amber haze of distant street lamps and the yellow coziness of the suburb windows.

Shiro's powers would be particularly strong that night...

"Perhaps the concept is unfamiliar to you, Shiro, but I seek respect. I don't expect you to treat me as if I have the authority. My actions during my life and your actions during yours are behind us. They are irrelevant to use now." He took a few steps toward Shiro, calculating each choice he made and thinking through every word he said. Shiro was powerful, so he had to tread lightly. "I don't think you are beneath me, and I do not think that you are above me. Just because we have different origins and opinions doesn't mean that we can't reach a mutual agreement."

He took a few steps away now, turning his eyes to Lance. "I want to have others experience the afterlife I'm experiencing, and you want the same. I want to convert Lance to a life that will get him to heaven, You have already chosen Keith's destiny and that he will be in hell before long. We are doing the same thing, just in different directions with opposing goals. I cannot criticise you for doing what I'm doing. I cannot decide that you are beneath me just because you're a demon." He studied Lance, watching him smile and laugh as he ate, his eyes full of nothing but love whenever he looked at Keith. It was familiar. It was sweet to see, stirring a sense of warmth in Lotor's chest. "I don't know why it gets to me, or why I take your words seriously, but I hope I'm not asking for too much by wanting a mutual sense of respect."

"Don't compare me to you," Shiro muttered, drawing up his shoulders. "We're nothing like each other. You don't understand a single thing about me."

"Shiro, you're taking my words in the wrong context. Don't twist my words. I-"

He pushed up from the desk and turned around, tilting his head forward as he scowled at the angel before him. Shiro cut him off quickly. "I don't want Keith to go through what I did, but I don't have a fucking choice, do I?" he snapped, the anger from before returning with a bursting sort of feeling in his chest. Magic swelled up inside of him, like a bottle of carbonated soda shaken much too heavily. His fingers twitched. His eyes flickered. His lips pulled back into a fanged snarl. His scars were burning -- burning so bad Shiro found himself a little fidgety, rolling his shoulders and moving his arms to try and relieve some of that discomfort. "Condemning souls into damnation isn't some fucking mission. It's not my one true purpose in life. It's just a job I do to save my own skin."

Shiro brought a hand up to his heart and gave a dramatic gasp at that very last bit, cutting Lotor short before he could even begin to speak. "But oh how horribly selfish!" he cried, in some sort of twisted mockery of Lotor's accent. "Putting people through the same pain as me just to get out of it? How could I ever? What shame!" He took his hand from his heart, and let his fists ball at his sides.

"You don't get an ounce of my respect because you don't really respect me all that much either, pal," he said darkly, the lights flickering again. "You think I'm disgusting. You think I'm 'vile'. You just want to study me like I'm some bug underneath a microscope. Sorry to burst your bubble but there's not many layers to all of this." Shiro gestured to himself. "Incase you keep forgetting, I still don't even have a soul."

What was forcing that out of him all of a sudden? Shiro could tell there was something there... pulling sentence from sentence from his lips as though each of his inner, subconscious confessions were hooked on some invisible twine of pure magic. Shiro was pacing a little, his hands on their opposite arms, rubbing at those burning scars. He could smell the blood of the two humans sitting on the bed. He could sense the thick liquid pumping through their systems, the pulse of all of it quickening at each flicker of the lights. Shiro closed his eyes and tried to ignore it, his teeth starting to grind behind his scowling lips.

Shiro should have checked the forecast. He should have known just how covered up all the light would be. He was too powerful to be around humans. Too powerful to be around Lotor and... and whatever sort of fucking power the angel had over him -- a power Shiro was starting to recognize as supernatural. The feral instincts of his magic were beginning to take over, the darkness of the world outside feeding it like gasoline feeds flame. He would have to leave soon... but making Keith bail so quickly after he had showed would wreck the plan.

"Making these assumptions won't do anything but distance you." Lotor was still sitting down, his gaze lazily fixed upon Shiro. "You don't truly think that I consider you 'vile' or disgusting, do you? You're just telling yourself the same lies to keep everyone at a distance."

His eyes drifted to Lance and Keith and Lotor... he suddenly looked so bored. He just didn't seem to care that much about this anymore. "But yes, you're right. You don't have a soul, and you show it."

 

His eyes didn't even flicker to Shiro as he watched the two on the bed. They were talking, laughing, smiling sweetly and keeping his eyes on the bed. He watched as Lance offered Keith the bottle of Daniel's and poured two glasses, setting the bottle down as they began sipping their glasses. Lotor could almost see his soul getting tainted. This was so clearly Shiro's influence on Keith rubbing off onto Lance, and it was frustrating how defensive Shiro got every time that he asked. He simply wanted to voice this concern (well aware that Shiro was the cause) but Shiro never let it happen. He was quickly growing tired of hearing his damned voice.

Shiro felt like his skin had been just about boiling at the casual laziness of Lotor's tone. "Stop talking about me like that!" he said in what could nearly be described as a shout. Shiro took an angry step forward, his hand lifting in an accusatory point as he continued to seethed out his words through his clenched teeth. "Stop talking about me like you know everything! You don't! I-"

He cut himself off with his own growl, words getting caught in a an angry mess of his own anger. Shiro reached a hand up to his head and threw his gaze to the ground, massaging at his temple. "Alright. I'm over this shit," he grumbled to himself, spinning around on his heel. "Keith. We're leaving. Now."

Keith went a little rigid at the voice in his head but... but he stayed where he was. He muttered something quick and smiled to Lance when the other boy had asked him what was wrong. Shiro froze up at the bold ignoring of him and his wishes... it was something that had never happened before. His vessels always listened right away. Always.

Shiro prawled forward, and took a heavy hold of Keith's arm. Keith seemed to shiver, and pale at the contact, but again... he paid no mind to it. Shiro leaned in close to Keith's ear, his eyes flaming with rage.

"Leave," he whispered harshly, the magic pulling and distorting his tone into some sort of rasping voice of a nightmare. Keith's brow drew up before his suddenly terrified eyes, but he still ignored the voice, shaking his head and reaching a trembling hand down for his glass of Daniel's. Shiro grit his teeth and tried again. "Leave!"

Even Lance seemed to respond to that shout. Shiro watched him perk up in shock one hand flying to his head in confusion. His eyes darted around back and forth, before he whispered something to Keith, reaching for Keith's very tremulous hand. It was near freezing in the room now... a few more degrees and the mortal's nervous breaths would be puffs of vapor twisting from their noses and their mouths. The presence of darkness in the room was very prevalent, the dirty tendrils of sadness and fear reaching their ways to the very corners of Lance's previously brighter bedroom. All that feeling was simply leaking from Shiro and his furious form as he stalked backwards away from Keith. When he turned around and spotted Lotor in that spot he was still sitting in, Lotor looked up with that same dull glaze in his eyes.

"Your hold on him is weakening," Lotor observed dully, noting the shift in Keith's aura. Just as Lance's energy had darkened, Keith's had an unfamiliar little glow of white beginning to bloom from his chest. They were influencing each other. "He's being drawn to Lance. If you had done as I'd said and kept them apart, this wouldn't have occured."

That was it. The coil that had been slowly winding and winding about inside Shiro's torso snapped clean in two, spreading about an unstoppable influx of magic and anger and pain about his scars. "Shut up!" he had roared, slamming his foot down. The shout whipped about both realms -- the realm of safe solitude in which Lotor and Shiro had been hidden in, and then the physical realm where Keith and Lance both shot up from their bed. "He's still mine!"

Shiro didn't let his own common sense hold him back -- he ignored all the warning bells his mind set forth as he drew his left leg back and hunched his head forward: a common battle stance for demons. He watched as Lotor recognized the gesture and begin to stand up, only charging up his magic as he prepared for his first blow on that stupid, stupid angel.

"Shiro?" Keith asked wildly, standing. Shiro jumped, and whipped his head around, eyes wide. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Keith couldn't see him but... but he could certainly hear him. Shiro felt the plan begin to crumble about him, teeth gritting behind his lips as he straightened himself up. Keith wasn't supposed to know he was even there -- Shiro was only supposed to be that nagging sense in Keith's subconscious. Growling, he stepped forward towards his human, who had been whipping his head back and forth in keen lookout.

"Remember the fucking deal," Shiro just muttered darkly.

With that Shiro vanished from the room -- using every bit of his power to just teleport himself from the entire setting. The room's atmosphere seemed to simply split in two at the release of energy and magic, the whispers of Shiro's voice still hanging heavy in the air for all to hear. The lights flickered with no stopping. The humans were both trembling heavily with chills. The succulents behind Lotor's head all withered and wilted. There was a second of stiff silence before the bulbs of Lance's lamps shattered, and the bedroom was doused in a heavy blackness. 

"Deal?" Lance asked timidly as he looked at Keith. His voice was hesitant, apprehensive, with the confusion and the fear still making his stomach churn. He was tense, cold, and was left with the sensation of an ice cold weight in his stomach. His eyes lifted to fix on Keith, reflecting confusion and anxiety and worry. Had Keith brought that... thing... here? Had he brought someone here to destroy him, just as Lotor was here to try and help him flourish? If that was even true- for all he knew, the two odd figures were on the same team and feigning whatever was happening.

It all seemed so surreal, a sickliness settled in his stomach. "And- And who was that? You know him? Why was he in here?"

Lotor just watched the two of them. He sighed, sending a despondent look to the dead plants before he, too, faded from the room. This was out of his hands. He wasn't going to be as careless as Shiro by appearing just to fix the situation. He left with nothing but a quiet whisper in Lance's ear.

"Listen to what he has to say. Be patient." A small piece of advice, but a useful one. One that Lance would desperately need to remember when Keith explained what was going on- if he did.


	4. A Taste Of Heaven

"Shiro!" Lotor's voice was loud, commanding. This was a neutral place- one that couldn't be affected by Shiro's outbursts. One where anger couldn't damage the plains around them. One where any further meltdowns or outbursts couldn't cause damage to either of them. "Get back here."

He had followed him, trapped him in a neutral place, keeping him sealed there. They needed to be open about this. Shiro's temper tantrum couldn't go unaddressed. It couldn't be ignored. It couldn't be dealt with so lazily. He wasn't going to be so disrespected to the point where Shiro puts everything at risk- including Lotor's life- because he couldn't hold his tongue and control his temper.

He stood behind Shiro, standing his ground, gritting his teeth and watching the demon stood opposite him. He simply needed to talk to him. Get this over with. Discuss this so that they could move back to going their separate ways and trying to prevent their human's from interacting. He was growing tired of seeing Lance's beautiful aura contaminated with such vile splotches of redness or blackness. He didn't care for how Keith improved. The human may have had a life ahead of him but his fate was sealed regardless. Lance didn't have a determined fate and all Lotor wanted was to prevent him from ending up like Keith would. Like Shiro had.

Shiro looked around the neutral zone, eyes narrowed into slits as he searched for a weak spot in the temporary little prison. A dull whiteness stretched on and on around them, enveloping them in a never ending abyss of blankness. They were in between the folds of reality, a space created to hold and imprison dark substances for short periods of time. It was an incredibly powerful trick... one that wouldn't last very long if Lotor had been telling the truth about his strength. Huffing, Shiro spun around to face the angel, his chest heaving as he expanded his magic outwards in search of some nook or some cranny he could worm out from.

"What do you want?" he snapped. Despite his foul tone and dark stare, Shiro could feel his system winding down. The power of darkness was completely null and void in that space of neutrality Lotor had created for him. With the slow leeching of his magic came the easing of Shiro's feral demon instincts to cause chaos and mayhem. His previous anger dimmed and dulled. The itching of his scars and the twinging feeling of addiction for blood or for power eased considerably so. Shiro only kept his tone snarled for his own dignity. "Stay away from me."

It wouldn't be long before his powers would be completely useless... but then again, it wouldn't have been long until Lotor's powers were useless too. The synthesized world around them dampened magic... he would have to work quickly if he was going to find a way out.

"I don't mean to be crude, but your meltdown was undignified and shameful," Lotor scolded, his eyes fixed on Shiro. "It's exposed your existence to Lance, who is now demanding an explanation from Keith. It's only influenced more chaos that Keith will have to unravel. You're causing more damage than you'd ever know. If I didn't tell you, you'd be clueless because someone always cleans up your messes! You reveal yourself to two humans, one of which isn't supposed to know you exist, and someone else needs to deal with it." He took a few strides toward Shiro. "Your emotions are no excuse to behave poorly, and they never should be."

Finally, he fell quiet, done with his chastising and content that he had made his point. All he was doing was hoping that Shiro would apologise and they would move on- though the look in Shiro's eyes smothered any hope of that happening. Typical. His outbursts never seemed to end, whether done as a way of preserving dignity or because simple statements truly upset him that badly. It wasn't clear.

Shiro looked at what he believed to be was the ground, scowling. "Just leave me alone," he muttered, drawing his hands up to his opposite arms. He tried not to show it all that clearly but... he began to let Lotor's words sink in a little. So Lance was going to know about him, huh? And Keith was going to be the one to tell him? That would... well that would either mess everything up to shit, or just make his whole idea a hell of a lot easier. On one hand, Lance would become disgusted with Keith for giving himself up to such a creature... but on the other hand -- the more satisfying hand -- Lance would become interested. Interested in Shiro. Interested in the magic.

Interested in a deal?

 

All of the stuff that angel before him blabbed about wasn't too important to Shiro. He weighed each of those hands in his head, back and forth. Would it be better to retreat? Take Keith's soul and just try to find another as soon as he could before Sendak noticed he was free? Or... or would it be better just to wait it out for Lance? Was Lance worth dealing with Lotor and his strange fucking aura? Shiro could end it and retreat whenever he wanted to, of course... maybe...

Maybe his temper tantrum was a good thing...

But Shiro couldn't let feathers know that.

He flicked his eyes up to Lotor, letting them sour and grow bitter with disgust. "I messed up," he growled out in a lie, trying to make it seem as though the words were forced from his lips with strain. "Lance wasn't supposed to know about me. I didn't mean to break through the realities or whatever... my powers are stronger than usual tonight. Shoulda checked the forecast and stayed at home. My bad..." That last bit was nothing but a grumbled sort of hiss, the words tasting awful on his tongue even if they were just a part of his ploy. "I get it, alright? My bad. Sorry or whatever..." he shivered at the word. "Just... just leave me alone. I need to cool down and you're not going to fucking help at all."

Lotor watched him for a few moments. He appreciated the words, of course, but... but he could see through the pity tones and the 'hurt'. He took a few steps toward Shiro.

"Don't stare at the floor," he said as he watched him, seeing how Shiro's eyes turned to the ground almost as soon as they'd turned to see his face. "Look, we all make mistakes like this and I can't try to imagine what it's like for you but... but getting upset and angry or violent isn't going to solve anything."

He took another few steps, meaning that there was less than a metre of distance between them. He looked down at Shiro, standing just a little taller than him. "Let me help you. You've got tension in your shoulders and anger in your eyes." He raised his hands, delicately letting his fingers rush through Shiro's hair without waiting for a response- knowing that Shiro would be hostile and insult him and tell him to fuck off. Shiro gasped at the contact, only trying to pull away for a moment before the alluring feeling of Lotor's power overtook him, and he found himself stock still.

His touches were delicate and hesitant; full of a loving kind of power that ran through Shiro's tense body. This energy was the polar opposite to Shiro's. It wasn't fuelled by anger or hatred or strong negative emotions that festered so tenaciously in the soul of demons. It wasn't forced to grow and develop with only the slightest predictability. Lotor's energy was calm and controlled, full of a delicate kind of caution. Lotor closed his eyes as he focused on this, still delicately toying with Shiro's hair and letting the energy spill from his fingertips. He focused solely on the dose of the energy he was supplying, not wanting to overpower Shiro with such an unfamiliar sensation. He let the feeling of calmness settle in Shiro's mind, first, waiting to be embraced before it began to swirl through his lungs with each breath, lifting the negativity wound like a tight coil in Shiro's stomach and replacing it with an unfamiliar absence of such toxic feelings.

Then, after only a few moments of the blissful contact, Lotor pulled his hands back and opened his eyes. They'd been glowing a beautiful pink, reflecting passion and sweetness, but when they were open and he was no longer feeding Shiro his energy, they faded to their usual purple. He smiled softly.

"Is that better?"

Shiro had never felt anything like that before.

During the time Lotor had his hands on Shiro's head, his fingers coaxing through Shiro's hair as the magic poured through his touch into Shiro's stupefied system, his eyes had drifted to a close, and the tense muscles of his body had laxed. Shiro's head had tilted upwards, into Lotor's hold, his lips parting just slightly, his brow knitting upwards in a furrowed look at that confusing feeling that blossomed about his chest and his stomach.

It was a warm feeling... but a cool feeling at the same time. It was a feeling of complete and utter... tranquility. Peace. It was the feeling of releasing tension -- tension of a winding coil that had been twisted and turned for years and years before. It was like relaxing gust of air from the snapping of a wire that had been pulled too tightly. It was like the instant relief of a fist balled too tightly in the base of his stomach. The first gasp of cool oxygen after holding his breath. The first drink of icy water after going a week without it. The sweetness of spring air or the crispness of fall. The crunch of snow beneath heavy boots or the warmth of a sun pleasantly basked beneath, The relaxation of curling up to sleep in a plush bed after a day of hard work. The instant relief of hearing the voice of a loved one you feared you'd never hear again...

It was all of those. All of those feelings Shiro had never really felt before... all squished into colossal feeling of pure release.

That sense of alien peace had flushed through him from the mere contact of Lotor's fingers, running down from the top of his skull to the tips of his fingers and the tips of his toes. It moved about his body in waves, rushing through him with each beat of his slowing heart, with each intake of his slowing breath. Shiro felt the strange magic work at the pains in his tensioned muscles. It worked at his aches and it worked at his burning scars. His shoulders, previously drawn close to his head, sank slowly. His fists uncurled themselves. His knees wobbled -- wobbled as if they'd give out so he could fall to them and relax himself to the ground at Lotor's feet. Shiro didn't even notice it though. He was too busy just feeling how incredible that sense of peace was...

And then it was taken away.

After what had been moments, the feeling began to leak from him -- melt away from his system. With the absence of the peace came the flooding in of his chaos. His anger washed over him. His sorrow and his fear joined it, feeling like acid in the wake of Lotor's magic. His breathing stuttered and his eyes clenched a little, the pain beginning to lace about his scars and fester inside of his chest. Shiro felt his aching jaw muscles pulse as he clenched his teeth together. A single little plea left him before he could stop it, the word slipping from his lips as the rest of Lotor's magic left him, and his own pooled his system to the very brim.

"Wait..."

When Shiro fluttered his eyes open, hot tears began to roll down his cheeks.

He'd been frozen for a moment or so, his insides condensing in on themselves in longing for Lotor's touch again, but the moment he saw his reflection in the suddenly wide eyes of Lotor before him, Shiro felt his consciousness pummel him with the force of a fist to his stomach. Shiro spun around, bringing both his hands to his face to furiously wipe at the painstaking warmth of his tears. His breath spilled from his lips in heavy gasps. His eyes were wide and still spilling with tears. He was shaking again... but not from rage. Not from the overflow of his dark magic. No... no it was something else...

Shiro didn't care. He just needed to get away.

"Let me out of here," he seethed, sniffling. Shiro reached up his hands to his head, feeling the absence of Lotor's touch like nothing he'd ever felt before. His fingers curled into fists against his head, pulling at his hair. "Let me go! Please... just go away!"

Lotor's arms had raised a little- a show to display how he didn't intend on inflicting harm. He hadn't known that that would be so torturous for Shiro that it would make him cry. He hadn't expected a demon to be so unused to it that it derived such a reaction. Had it hurt? Had it been like fire? Like ice? Had it sent shocks through his body that Shiro had been too paralysed to react to?

It didn't matter. He saw the desperation in Shiro's tearful eyes. He heard the fear in Shiro's loud voice and he nodded, snapping his fingers, letting the neutral zone fade away from around the two of them. They were in Shiro's warehouse (though Atlas was nowhere to be seen) and Lotor had moved back by now- by several metres.

The moment Shiro felt the solid ground of his warehouse beneath his feet, his knees finally gave out, and he collapsed with them. He wrapped his arms around himself, ducking his head down low as he tried to hold back his seemingly ever-flowing teardrops. The presence of Lotor behind him had been seemingly impossible to miss -- he could feel that cleanliness of his magic behind him, whispering to him, tickling the nape of his neck with its teasing. Shiro hunched over a little more, and let out a guttural growl, one laced with the undeniable rage of a demon about to go feral.

"Go away!" he shouted, voice ringing in his warehouse. He heard the sharp barking of Atlas a ways off -- he could feel her concern somewhere deep in his chest beneath all of those other rampant emotions.

Lotor kept his hands raised, his fingers fanned out. He wanted it to be clear to Shiro that he was harmless- he didn't want to upset or anger him further.

"I'm sorry for any harm I may have inflicted," he said softly, clearly. He just wanted to make sure Shiro knew he hadn't intended to harm him. "I'll see you the next time Keith sees Lance."

And, exactly as the neutral zone had done, Lotor faded from sight. A blink and Shiro would have missed it. Seconds later, Lotor was in Lance's room. Keith had left. The room felt cold and lonely, full of toxic energy- though he couldn't tell if that was left from Shiro's outburst or because of Lance's current conflicted emotions. Lotor swept away the pieces of broken glass with a wave of his hand and returned the succulents to life (with a lot more effort than it had taken before). He lit the candles around the room slowly, making sure Lance could see his pathway of movement and could figure out whereabouts he was.

Lotor finally appeared in the room, a soft and sad smile settled on his features as he took a couple of steps to the bed.

"Come, Lance," his delicate voice came, watching as the tension seemed to flood from Lance's body at the familiar voice. He was invited to the bed and contently settled beside Lance, holding the male to his chest and running his fingers through his hair. "Tell me about everything. I'll clear up whatever I can."

~~~

"What the hell Shiro?"

Keith's voice had been loud. But... but everything was loud, really. The wispy calls of Keith's summoning had been loud. The eerie winds and howls of reality around him as Shiro teleported had been loud. The clomping of Shiro's boots as he solidified before Keith in his cramped living room had been loud. The ticking of the clock hung on the wall. The buzzing of the ice maker inside of the rusted refrigerator. The whine of the dog Keith had as it itched itself behind the ear. The pitter-patter of the rain on the windows and on the leaky ceiling. The drip-dropping of water as it plopped its droplets into the nearly overflowing bucket on the kitchen table. All of it was loud. Shiro could hear every single little thing, every tick and every scratch and every drop pushing him further and further into another temper tantrum of plain and simple overload.

It had been seven hours since Lotor had showed him what pure bliss felt like, and Shiro still felt off. He felt wrong. He felt worse than he had in at least two-thousand years. Shiro was jumpy and nervous and in pain and consumed in a low, thrumming fury that beat inside of him like the distant boom of a far off bass drum of war. It was the feeling those fresh from the underbelly of Hell would experience. Those new and not used or numb to such pains and such power. Atlas had tried to help him when she arrived to the warehouse to find him all alone, confused and trembling on the ground like a pathetic worm, but she hadn't done much but tease him with relief for only a few seconds before her presence seemed useless. Useless and small compared to the mighty feeling of Lotor and his fucking spell.

Shiro didn't know what Lotor did to him for sure but... he was beginning to figure he'd given Shiro a taste of what Heaven was like.

And such a taste made it a bit hard to tolerate the reality of his Hell.

There was no crueler action, Shiro surmised when he had laid down beside Atlas on his ancient mattress a little over an hour after the whole incident had happened, than what Lotor had done to him in that Godforsaken neutral zone. Whether he meant it or not, what Lotor had done was simple torture. To give a man what he most desires and to rip it away before he even truly gets a chance to embrace it? A basic tactic, but an easy tactic if one is aiming to break another's spirit. It was something used often in Hell -- thankfully not to Shiro, but to others. What Lotor had done to him was the same but... to a greater, stranger extent. Lotor had teased Shiro with feelings he never knew he even wanted, and with an afterlife that he wouldn't be able to achieve with even an eternity of work and patience. It didn't matter if he was trying to help or not -- that angel was dealing with powers he didn't understand or comprehend. It was a cruel action. The cruelest.

Shiro tried not to think about it right there and then as he stood before Keith, the human boy fumingly pacing back and forth, each footstep adding to Shiro's pained head. Even if the sun was just rising somewhere over the horizon, painting the tippy tops of distant homes and hills a soft, pinkish sort of tone, Shiro still felt a little too overstuffed with power. He was tired from his pathetic crying and his previous outburst... he hoped he wouldn't have to go through it all again. Shiro just sat patently, arms at his sides as he listened to Keith prattle on about demons and angels and Lance.

"You didn't tell me he had someone too," Keith snapped finally, whipping his head around to look at him. "Why didn't you tell me he had an angel?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Shiro let out a soft, "You never asked." He looked down to his feet, trying to find something he could properly focus his attention onto to try and soothe the hyperness of his nerves. "It wasn't anything important to the plan."

"Plan? What plan? Corrupting Lance?" Keith whipped his questions out like punches, lashing out with them in his furious anger. "Knowing I had a whole fucking angel up against me would have been kind of important to know."

Shiro lifted a hand to his head, grimacing at the volume of Keith's voice. "It would have been better if you didn't know," Shiro muttered quietly, shaking his head. "You wouldn't have been thinking of it... now you have to be careful. Especially if Lance tells Lotor he told him about you. Then you really have to watch your step." He paused a moment or so, thinking hard. He looked up to Keith and cocked his head. "Did you tell Lance about me?"

"Of course I did," Keith said, sounding irritable. "He heard your voice. He heard me call out to you. What was I supposed to say? That we're both collectively crazy?"

There was a great sigh from Shiro, his hand moving to his eyes, rubbing them with his thumb and forefinger. "That was an incredible mistake," he murmured. "This whole thing is really crashing down around us."

Keith gave a scoff. "It wasn't my mistake to begin with," he said sharply, each word striking into Shiro's brain like a stab from a sword. Shiro grimaced as Keith went on. "You're the one who decided to freak out."

"You're the one who didn't listen to me when I told you we had to go," Shiro shot back, unable to contain himself as he whipped his head upwards, eyes crackling, tail flicking. The room cooled down a few degrees, and Keith's features shimmered with a look of gentle obedience for only a moment before his previous anger misted back into focus.

"Leaving then would have messed up the plan," Keith huffed. Despite his angry disposition, Keith tone didn't hum with the same confidence as before. Shiro took it as an achievement, watching as the boy straightened up, crossed his arms, and turned his gaze to the floor. "Why do you need to corrupt Lance's soul anyways?"

Shiro gave a soft sigh, and shrugged his shoulders. "He's just my next target," he said quietly. "I'm pissed off that Lotor and the God Squad decided to steal him from Hell, so he's who I'm going for next. Our contract ends the moment you find your mother -- I need a new future vessel to latch onto. It's reassurance."

The room fell silent after Shiro did, Keith visibly bristling at the mention of his mother and their dealings. Shiro watched as Keith reached a mindless hand up to the bite mark on his shoulder to rub it. He instantly tried to suppress the want to bite such a scar once more, forcibly wrenching his gaze from Keith and turning it to the wall.

"Any luck with that?" Shiro asked after a moment or so. "With your mom? What about those guys you questioned?"

Keith sighed. "They didn't have anything. All the trails went cold," he muttered weakly, still rubbing his mark.

"I'm sorry," Shiro said quietly, watching him from the corners of his eyes.

There was a huff from the human, his teeth gritting behind his scowling lips. He shook his head quick. "I'm still close though. I'll find her. Might take a few more deals but... but I'll find her..." Keith trailed off, bit his lip, and then shook his head again. "Anyways... Lance says he wants to meet you.

Shiro turned his head back around, eyes falling onto the quiet, mumbling boy before him. "He does?" he asked, sounding a bit dumbfounded. "Why? Why would he want to meet me?"

Keith shrugged. "I dunno, but he wants me to meet Lotor, too," he muttered. Keith looked off to the side, chewing o the inside of his cheek, working the flesh between his molars as he thought. "He's a good guy, Shiro."

"Yeah? And?" Shiro replied gruffly, already working out in his mind whether or not meeting Lance would be a good thing or a bad one regarding his plan in mind.

On one hand, Lance could reject him and chastise him -- shoo him away or yell at him for hurting Keith with the power of Lotor's words and Lotor's influence. The other hand... well... on that lovely other hand Shiro had thought about before, Lance could have been interested in dealing. Lance could have been interested in Shiro's magic. Lance could be interested on throwing his pathetic little soul away for something real -- something like power or money or hope or happiness. My... what a lovely little hand that could have been, especially after events such as that night's.

"Well... I was thinking," Keith started, reaching his hands up to twiddle his thumbs. "Does he have to be your next victim? I can find someone else. Someone who doesn't have an angel. Someone... easier? Someone who's not... not him..."

Shiro was silent for a good long moment... and then he narrowed his eyes.

"Don't go soft on me now, Keith," he said darkly, inspiring his previous anger from his sharp little snapping from before. "Don't you dare. That deal is still bound to you. The chains still connect us. You can't break that promise."

Keith was painfully quiet, still fumbling with his fingers before him. "I know."

Not quite feeling like he was being truthful enough, Shiro began to stroll forward, standing before Keith with a rather puffed up chest, and a scowling darkness etched about his features as he looked down at the boy before him. Keith's previous conviction had been snuffed by Shiro's sudden change, the shift of dominance easily turning its way to Shiro's table as he loomed over him. Shiro placed his hand on Keith's shoulder -- the beetle-like prosthetic one. Keith shuddered weakly at the touch,

"Convince Lance I was the best thing that ever happened to you," Shiro said in a murmur, his eyes narrowing as he let his new plan leave his lips. "I want Lance to be ready to strike up a deal whenever we meet next. I want him to be able to look me in the eyes with no disgust and I want him to admire my power. Can you do that Keith? Can you do that for me?"

Keith simply nodded, eyes focused on his folded hands.

Shiro smiled a little, and drew his hand back. "Wonderful," he hummed, taking a few steps backwards. "I'm going to leave you now, Keith. I need rest. I will come back to you and observe without any sorts of... tantrums like the one you witnessed today..." Shiro trailed off, watching the fretful boy in front of him twiddle and fiddle with his fingers in a sort of stimming attempt to keep himself level.

"Remember," Shiro said softly, gathering up his magic to vanish. "Know where your loyalty lies, Keith."

Shiro's last command had been a simple breath of air as he vanished, his rush of magic as he teleported blowing out the candles that surrounded Keith's summoning altar.

Remember who owns your soul.


	5. A Meeting

"So, what about that thing?" Lance asked as he wrestled with his jeans, pulling them on. "The 'Shiro' thing? What was all that? Keith explained it to me but I still don't really know."

Lance was getting ready to go to Keith's house. It had been... perhaps a week at the most since Shiro's outburst and Lotor had yet to interact with him again. Keith and Lance had needed some time apart after that mess and now they were finally meeting again, meaning that Lotor would be confronting Shiro. Whether he wanted to or not.

"Once again, Lance, I cannot go into detail," Lotor said in an almost scolding tone, having had to repeat this several times over in the last few days. "As much as I with that I could, I can't explain everything to you with perfect clarity. Shiro is a demon who had made a deal with Keith- though for what, I don't know. Shiro is a force of malicious and cruel energy that had overpowered him while he was alive and dominated over him in death. He's highly powerful and has some of the marks of a murderer, meaning that he has done more than enough malice in his time alive to justify his current location in hell."

He stood, combing his fingers through Lance's hair and taming it a little further before retreating. "It's why you need to be careful around Keith. He has already submitted to a demon's calling and given them his soul. You can't fall victim to the same trap." He broke away, beginning down the stairs and letting Lance snatch up his bag before following. He smiled a little as he ran after the angel, kicking on his shoes before unlocking the door and starting down the road. He sent Lotor a glance.

"Can people see you?" he questioned, beaming. All these little things were so new and interesting for humans. They were intolerable with their incessant questions.

Lotor smiled slightly. "Yes, they can. However while you see me for who I am, they see this." His ethereal features melted away, leaving nothing but a human in its place. Wearing a lavender shirt and black jeans, with a smooth complexion and dull grey eyes. With blond hair, not white, that was tied back into a messy bun. Lance's wide eyes studied the new form, intrigued by the sudden change.

"So that's what you looked like as a human?" he asked excitedly, receiving only a polite nod in return. The conversation died shortly after- evidently Lotor just wasn't willing to tolerate so much. The questions would only spiral from there into asking about who he was or what he had done and he didn't wish to delve into that rabbit hole.

They walked the rest of the route in silence, uninterrupted when Lance arrived at the door and sent a glance over his shoulder- just to check that he should go through with this. Lotor nodded and gestured for him to go ahead before Lance raised his hand and knocked on the door. He could hear quiet talking from inside, but it had died a few seconds after he had knocked.

Keith rushed to the door at the sound of the knock, quickly wrapping up his bloodied palm with tape before he unlocked and threw open the door, a bright smile lighting up his face upon seeing Lance. He looked... well, he looked much better than normal. His hair was combed and pulled back into a neat but looser sort of ponytail that suited him and his not-so-slouched shoulders fairly well. His hands were in the pockets of his ironed sweatshirt, one still bleeding a little from his attempts at Shiro's altar, but his hood had been down, and the shirt wasn't as baggy as his usual ones. He wore jeans instead of sweatpants, and simply wore two black socks instead of those ugly old boots. The inside of his house smelled nice -- of course always tainted with incense and the lingering taste of a creature close to death, but a bit fruitier with some of the flavored candles he had burned for just the occasion of Lance's visit.

He seemed to move forward, almost as if he'd been going for a hug, but he stopped upon noticing Lotor. At first, confusion overwhelmed him at the sight of the well manicured, rather handsome man before him, but then the obviousness of the situation took over, and Keith let himself scowl. "You're the angel, aren't you?" he muttered quietly, a low distaste in his tone. Keith looked to Lance. "Did he have to come? I'm already having trouble contacting Shiro and he's... apparently he's got a thing with, uh, Lotor?" Keith flicked his eyes to Lotor. "Lotor, right?"

The angel nodded, noting the distaste and assuming (correctly) that Shiro was to blame for the edge to his voice. He stepped aside, pushing Lance forward. "Don't let me distract you, I'm only here to supervise and I've been meaning to speak with Shiro."

Keith just nodded, and lead them both inside.

"Shiro hasn't been here in, like, a week or so," he said as they moved towards the altar, pushing aside mess rather frantically before Lance could see it. His heart had been pounding in his chest for some reason, his skin crawling whenever he'd look back to see how Lance reacted to the poorer, bare house around them. "Usually I can, uh, feel his presence or something, but he left about a week ago. Said he needed rest or something. It, uh, was something Lotor did, I think..." Keith trailed off uncomfortably, looking at Lotor with a sort of bitter look that didn't go unnoticed.

They made their way into the living room, all eyes easily falling onto the centerpiece -- that chilling altar of bone and blood and ritual. Keith didn't look back at Lance to see how he reacted, and instead pulled his hand from his pocket, unwrapping the blood-sodden towel from his palm and holding the hand over the middle of the altar. He mumbled something in Latin, trying to reach out for Shiro. He couldn't tell if he hadn't been trying hard enough, or if Shiro was just ignoring him or something.

Keith said something else in Latin, and then sighed quietly, feeling some sort of connection click. "Lance is here," he said, his tone irritated and impatient. "Stop being stubborn. Will you just show up already?"

There was a moment of hesitation before a voice filled Keith's head, so loud he had to squeeze his eyes shut and stumbled backwards a little. Is the angel there?

"Yes," Keith said through gritted teeth. "But we expected that. Come on. You said you'd meet Lance."

A pause. Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Just tell Lotor to leave me the fuck alone.

Keith nodded, and turned around. "Shiro said he'll come if you promise to leave him the fuck alone," he said to the angel, cocking his head. Keith paused, flicking a glance to the altar before slowly pulling his hand back and closing his fist -- disrupting the connection he had with Shiro. He looked at Lotor, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. "He really doesn't like you. What did you do to him? I've never seen him so freaked out about something and my soul has been literally bound to his for like five years now."

Lotor just studied Keith for a few long moments. He couldn't exactly decline, but the rudeness of Shiro's words and Keith's decision to directly translate. He just watched Keith, listening to his conversation. The dark aura emitting from the shrine was beginning to vex him and he desperately wanted to be away from it but couldn't leave Lance so unattended.

Speaking of Lance... he was beginning to look a little queasy upon seeing the shrine and such. He hadn't expected anything like this to come from Keith. He wasn't exactly sure what he'd expected when the words 'demonic ritual' came to mind.

Finally, he noted that Keith had been speaking to him, having been too preoccupied with his worry about Lance to pay too much attention to Keith. His eyes flickered up and he ran the words through his mind a couple of times.

"I'm not sure," he said honestly. "He had been tense so I removed the tension from his mind and body. After a few moments, when I took a step back..." Lotor caught himself, stopping. He couldn't tell Keith about this. He wasn't going to openly say to these two humans that a demon, someone they were supposed to fear, had begun to cry. It wasn't his place to say that and he wasn't going to sabotage Shiro's reputation after such a trivial little thing. "He shouted at me and then left. That was all." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, vile and heavy, but he would rather that over humiliating Shiro with the truth. That wasn't unreasonable of him, surely.

"And you say he hasn't been here in a week? Because of that incident?" he suddenly asked Keith, his brows furrowing as it settled in. Had it been that painful for him? Lotor hadn't expected there to be painful consequences to something so small and easy for him. He was hoping that Shiro wouldn't be too vicious toward him because of it.

"Sorta," came Shiro's grumble from the back of the room, his tired words wispy with magic and growled through bared teeth. "Isn't it rude to talk about someone behind his back?"

Shiro had been leaning up against the far wall, having quietly teleported there when he sensed Keith's absence in their connection. He'd been curious of Lotor's answer, carefully placing himself in the outward reaches of their reality to listen in on Lotor's response. He hadn't known what else Keith had asked him but... but he heard Lotor's answer. Shiro had certainly sensed the discourse that rose about inside Lotor's system when the angel had slipped that little lie through. It made Shiro cocked his head and furrow his brow, confused at why he would leave such a humiliating detail out from his story...

Whatever.

He was wearing a deep black suit that shimmered and sparkled with faint, silver decals. There were silver threads and silver buttons and a silver handkerchief in his breast pocket. Shiro's true form was apparent and made sure it was dashingly so -- his horns were glossed and his claws were filed and his teeth were sharp and glistening as he showed about his smile. Despite his sparkling appearance, there was not doubt how tired his eyes had been -- the spaces beneath his eyes darker than normal, that magnificent light of his iris a little duller, dimmed with a new sort of weakness. The past week dealing with the roughness of what Lotor had done to him had left his shoulders a little slumped and his eyes a little sunken, but he had gotten over it all. Mostly. There was a nagging sense deep inside him that reminded him how good Lotor's touch had felt, and how much he deserved to feel that good instead of how disgusting he felt every second of every single moment... but Shiro shoved it back easily. He just kept his eyes turned away from Lotor.

Instead, he focused on Lance.

"So," he hummed leaning off the wall. "Lance. We finally meet." Shiro drifted his eyes around the living room, furrowing his brow at the mess Keith had left. "You couldn't have cleaned up a little Keith? You knew you were having company."

Keith shrugged.

Shiro lifted a hand up to his head and sighed. "You're hopeless without me," he said, rolling his eyes. He turned his focus back on Lance. "Please excuse the mess. And the altar. It's all a little extra if you ask me. Hell should really invest in some iPhones or something, huh? It'd be much simpler." His voice was suave and cool. Seductively charming. Even if Lance had been outright disgusted with Shiro, there was no way he could resist trusting that tone of his... Shiro's magic made sure of that.

Lotor noted this. The little manipulative energy that curled around Shiro's words as he spoke. He settled one hand on Lance's shoulder to try to repel at least a little of the appeal that Shiro had. Lance's head had tiled to the side as he took in the details of the sight before him.

"Mm... I..." he glanced around, over at Keith, before looking back at Shiro. "Yeah, guess so..."

Lotor sent Shiro a glare for applying such temptation to even his most casual words.

"I was asked about why you've been neglecting Keith," Lotor said suddenly, interrupting to stop Shiro from sweet-talking Lance further. "I was only answering what I was asked, don't make it out to be a malicious choice or an attempt to slander your name." He took a step toward him, studying the tightness of Shiro's suit and watching how his tail swished and flicked behind him. Like a cat- a small sign of annoyance. "And I can see that you took time this morning choosing your outfit. Do you like how tight that one is, or did you expect it to be more appealing to my partner?" He was growing tired of seeing how Shiro tried to seduce Lance with the little details. The suave tone, the delicate yet unfamiliar courtesy, it was all just an obvious show.

Shiro scoffed. "Wasn't dressing' up for nobody... wasn't my fault you noticed how tight my pants might be," he said in a slick sort of sneer, narrowing his eyes.

A very vibrant red flushed over Lotor's cheeks at the comment and he began to protest- "I never said anything about your pants!", or something similar. He'd expected Shiro to be above such vile displays, but then again... this was the same creature who had neglected his pet because he'd gotten a little emotional. Not much was above someone like him.

Nonetheless, Lotor offered a hand to Shiro. "Good to see you again, though. I'm glad you've put the effort in to look good today. Your appearance isn't half as poor as your behaviour has been."

Shiro grit his teeth and ignored Lotor's hand. "Thanks for the fake compliment," he muttered rolling his eyes. He was starting to get a hint that insults wrapped up in weak compliments was Lotor's favorite way of degrading others. "I thought you said you were gonna leave me alone. I'm here to meet Lance. Not you."

With that, and a final, narrowed-eyed stare to Lotor, Shiro turned his gaze to wash upon Lance. He felt their stares lock, and gave a toothy smile, flashing his fangs and all. "Keith said you wanted to meet me," he said, almost boastingly. He moved forward towards Lance, warily keeping Lotor in his peripheral. "Why? Surely you must think I'm vile. That's what your angel calls me."

His eyes flickered a little behind their dull. Shiro was close to Lance — he could smell his sinful curiosity. Shiro was sure the next time Lotor would bring out that glimpse of his soul, the little black dot would be bigger. He could sense the corruption branching in the boy's essence. "Why so eager to meet little old Shiro, hm?"

Lance glanced between Lotor and Shiro, not objecting when Lotor stepped in front of him but not seeming overly grateful, either.

"Don't engage with him," he said sternly. "We agreed on this. You've already begun doing enough damage. If you expect me to leave you alone, then I expect you to leave him alone." Lance glanced back at Keith, moving away from the two supernatural beings having a dispute in the living room and instead just decided to focus on the sole reason he'd visited in the first place.

 

He just shyly brushed hands with Keith, keeping his gaze on the floor. "This is... weird," he said softly to him, taking a slight step closer. "I didn't want to meet him. I didn't want Lotor to come with me. I just wanted to spend time with you."

Keith nodded, moving a little closer as he watched the demon and the angel stare each other down. "I wish there was some way to get away from them," he muttered, letting his finger brush Lance's back. Keith furrowed his brow as he watched Shiro snap something about Lotor minding his fucking business or something like that before he leaned in close to Lance. "There's got to be some sexual tension between those two, right?" he joked, grinning proudly at the giggle it inspired from the boy beside him.

Shiro, who'd been seething something about how Lotor had already promised to keep to himself, whipped around to Keith, face ablaze with hot blush at the comment that had graced his sensitive hearing. "What?" he cried, eyes shooting wide. "That's... that's not what's happening here. At all!" Shiro jutted his thumb backwards at Lotor, shaking his head fast. "I have standards Keith!"

Keith just giggled at the reaction, lifting a hand to conceal his smile.

"It's not funny!" Shiro yelled, his face just about as red as Lotor's. "This is an age old feud between good and evil! It's not... I-..." Shiro gave a groan and let himself slump a little. "This was a mistake," he grumbled into his palm. "I hate all of you."

Lotor was just quiet while he listened to Shiro's undignified response to the accusation. His face was burning red, eyes averted from the giggling two and the enraged Shiro.

"Yeah, no, I..." he glanced around. "Angels don't actually experience any of that, so... I'm in the same boat as Shiro here. None of that."

Lance leant over and whispered something very clearly lewd to Keith, both of them bursting into another little giggling fit. Lotor just watched. He glanced at Keith and then at Lance, then at Shiro. He didn't understand the humour or the appeal of the obscenities so he just... kept quiet. That or he tried to put off the ideas of sexual relations with the idle reminders that he, as an angel, couldn't feel sexual attraction or become aroused. That there was no point in teasing him for stuff like that as lewd behaviours were regarded as a distraction from work and weren't permitted.

This only got him teased further, though, so he soon fell silent.

Shiro shot him a curious look, more of that flicker sparkling in his eyes. "Wait, wait," he said, holding up a hand. "You're telling me you don't... you don't get... you know." Shiro rolled his hand with his words, trying to motion his point. When Lotor, after a few moments of not understanding, gave Shiro a slow nod, Shiro gave a mighty cringe and took a step backwards.

"Yeesh," he muttered, shaking his head. Shiro let out a little chuckle, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. "Guess that's one point for the Sinner Squad, huh?" He looked at the two humans, folded his arms, and then nodded over to Lotor. "Imagine an eternal afterlife where you couldn't even have sex... Yikes. I mean, you're both virgins so you don't really get it yet but for someone like me, I mean. Yeesh."

The little comment seemed to shut both the giggly humans up, their eyes averting from their previous contently warm stare and darting for the floor. Shiro grinned at the their embarrassment, glad to have gotten them back. Keith reached back to pull the hood over his head, pulling up his shoulders with a face as red as rubies as he tried his best to avoid Lance's focus.

"I never told you I was a virgin," he muttered glumly, rubbing his arms. "You're lying."

Shiro gave a huff of laughter. "Dude, I know what virgin blood tastes like," he said, rolling his eyes. "You also use your blood in the ritual to summon me. You know, the ritual that requires virgin blood."

Keith just quietly fumed to himself, looking about ready to sink into his sweatshirt. Lance just gave a soft laugh that he played off as a cough, standing a little closer to Keith. Lotor studied them for a few moments, looking equally flustered and confused. If he were totally honest, he didn't see the big deal. Though that was pretty typical for someone who didn't know anything on the subject.

His gaze drifted over to Shiro. He was such a confusing specimen. Just from his current demeanour, he seemed equally cocky and humiliated. It was so confusing, seeing someone both too arrogant to keep his mouth shut and too embarrassed to talk. After a moment or two, Lotor managed to speak up.

"I don't see what the whole ordeal is about," he announced finally, arms folded over his chest. He had the energy of a disapproving parent. "I've not been sexually intimate with anyone in three thousand years at minimum. Especially not to the point of engaging in coitus."

Shiro almost felt himself choke on nothing but air in surprise, his eyes shooting wide as he whipped his whole body around to look at Lotor. "Holy shit!" he cried in a bout of laughter. Shiro reached a hand up to his head, blinking stupidly in shock as he thought about it. "That's... yikes. I'd take Hell over abstinence for three thousand fucking years. And the fact you used the word coitus makes it, like, a million times worse... Ugh. Gross."

Sighing, Shiro turned to the two humans and held up his hands. "Don't worry kids. You don't get sent to Hell for having sex. Pretty boy here just doesn't know how to have fun," he assured with a slow nod. "Oh, and the whole 'gays go to Hell thing' is pretty much garbage, too. Main things are, like, heavy stuff. Murder and all that fun jazz... selling your soul to a demon will definitely give you a one way ticket too..." Shiro trailed off, his eyes turning to Keith -- recognizing that look of hopeless fear that crossed about his human's features. "Sorry buddy. You called me."

"I know," Keith said quietly, nodding his head.

The almost fun sort of feeling in the atmosphere was ushered away rather quickly at Keith's mutter. Shiro reeled in his suave joking, sticking his hands in his front pants pockets and leaning back a bit to watch the mood somber. For a moment he felt guilty for bringing it up... but then he dismissed the guilt, and turned back to Lotor.

"We got off track," he said, shaking his head. "What I was saying before all that sex stuff is that this is none of your business, feathers. This is a Keith-Lance-Shiro thing. You were ever invited. If I want to talk to Lance, I can. That's the whole reason we're all standing in Keith's gross house."

Lotor let out a quiet sigh, still a little pink from the earlier conversation.

"And yet, it involved Lance so it shall involve me. You can't simply take advantage of someone without expecting me to step in!" He said, voice raised a little as he took a couple of steps toward him- before he caught himself and adjusted his behaviour accordingly. "You insult me, degrade me, act like I don't have the authority to care about the human I'm assigned to and then it becomes unreasonable for me to defend myself!"

He took a few steps toward Shiro, almost challengingly, as he watched his movements. It was provocative. It was an awfully bold move to come from an angel who prioritised peace and diplomacy more than anything else. Allegedly, anyway. Shiro had already decided to himself that Lotor was some malicious monster after had had attempted to help him. Something about Shiro's presence alone was driving him mad. It almost felt like he was being corrupted. It felt like Shiro was bringing out the negative and impatient feelings that he hadn't felt in so long and making them resurface.

It wasn't like he was trained in holding his tongue anymore. He used to be good at it, as far as he had remembered, but after so long feeling nothing but contentedness or happiness, the negativity took advantage of him so easily.

"Lance, I think that we should leave. He only plans on corrupting your soul and sending you down a path straight to Hell."

"Then screw off, why don't you?" Shiro snapped, taking his own step forward. Lotor's pushing, as the angel had expected, was quite the provocative move to a demon as unstable as Shiro. He bared his teeth and rose his shoulders a little bit, tail flicking like mad beside him. The feral instinct spurred inside of him -- weak with the daylight but still mad and raging with instinct and the basic assets needed for his own survival. "I already said this was a mistake. I could be hunting souls or sleeping or whatever the hell else I wanna do, but instead I decided to waste my time here with you assholes talking about how we're all just happy-go-lucky virgins."

His tone was snarled. Shiro lifted his finger and pointed it threateningly, the manicured claw sharp and dangerous. "You're on thin fucking ice, twinkle-toes," he muttered darkly. "One week till New Moon. If I were you, I wouldn't want to be in town around then. 'Specially if you don't even know how to use any of your fucking useless powers."

Lotor just watched him for a few long moments. The words settled heavily in the air. "I would have to advise against threatening me," he said sternly, taking Lance's wrist and sending a glance to Keith. "I pity you, destined to spend eternity with such a vile creature." He began to the door, his glare turning to Shiro for just a moment before he was dragging Lance outside. The second he was outside, he disappeared. It wasn't his usual fading, he didn't even say goodbye to Lance. The hold on his wrist just disappeared the second that he was out of sight, leaving Lance stood there alone.

Dumbfounded.

Shiro gave an animalistic sort of huff, sounding like a snarling beast as he spun around on his heel, facing the quiet, bitter Keith. He scowled at the boy, narrowing his eyes. "Lance doesn't seem too hard to corrupt. Lotor's weak. He's naive and too innocent for his own good," Shiro grumbled, preparing up his magic to teleport. "Just keep working. Remember the deal."

"Am I really going to spend an eternity with you in the afterlife?" Keith asked in a sudden sort of curiosity, disregarding Shiro's mumblings. "Not that I mind or anything. Just curious..."

Another huff. A shrug. "I don't know," Shiro muttered. "You'll go through basic Hell torture... maybe afterwards I'll try to find you or something."

He gave a deep sigh, lifting a hand to massage and rub at one of his temples. My, that angel was going to be the death of him. It really really was going to bring about an end to him and all his plans. If Shiro had any sense at all, he'd kill Keith and skip town quickly -- find a crossroads to hideout at until some unlucky human would get desperate and save him from having to see Sendak empty handed. Lotor was becoming too much of a problem. Too much of a threat. Just the mere thought of him made Shiro's head spin and his whole system thrum with a bitter aching... Shiro shook his head a again at the thought, wrapping his arms up around himself as he tried to will the enraged wanting for Lotor's powers down.

Shiro couldn't kill Keith yet. He hadn't found his mother and if he really had been as close as he promised, then killing him after all those years would just be cruel. Shiro didn't want to leave town. He liked Lance and wanted to see just what he could do with the boy's sinful potential. He also liked his warehouse. Atlas liked it too. Shiro was stable in those shitty suburbs... no fucking pain-in-his-side angel could ruin that for him.

No. He wasn't going to let Lotor ruin any of that for him.

"I'm gonna go. You keep meeting up with Lance. Show him some of your leftover magic or something. Get him interested. Do it on the downlow." Shiro's words left him quickly -- punchy and articulate as he thought them through. "I'm not going to let that son of a bitch ruin everything with his power of fucking friendship and rainbows."

Keith nodded, crossing his arms. There was a moment of silence before he responded. "Did that guy hurt you or something, Shiro?" he asked quietly. "I... I can't even explain the look in your eyes when you stared at him. But you look hurt... are you sure he's not someone I have to worry about?"

Shiro waited a second...

And then he huffed again. Like a bull. Like the wild, jungle cat getting ready to lunge. His tail snapped about behind him.

 

"He hurt me," Shiro admitted. "And the worst part is he didn't even know what he did. And he doesn't care that he did. He's dangerous because he's stupid. Like a dog blindly running around with one selfish mission with no regard for anything else around him. We just have to slip Lance from his grasp without him even noticing... which will be hard, but with a head as big as that one, it's far from impossible."

Shiro lifted his hands and smoothed down his jacket. "I'll see you, Keith," he said quietly.

Keith was thoughtful when he nodded, lifting a hand to wave. "Yeah. See you."


	6. Confrontation

"I don't see why I had to fucking leave!" Lance's loud voice shook Lotor from his thoughts. They were sat in his bedroom again- Lotor on the desk as usual and Lance sitting on his bed with his arms crossed. His energy was darker than usual, but Lotor wasn't much better either. After such an encounter with Shiro, Lotor's mood had darkened. After being dragged away from Keith so rudely, Lance was irritable.

"Language," Lotor idly scolded, though his mind was preoccupied and he didn't latch onto Lance's words properly. The chastising only made the mood in the room darken.

"No! This is a perfectly fucking reasonable time for me to swear! I'm pissed off because your bad blood with Shiro stopped me from spending time with Keith! I want to spend time with him and I don't always want you to be around!" Lance argued, getting up from the bed and glaring at Lotor.

"Shiro is always around Keith, so I need to be around you! Why is that so hard to comprehend?! I am putting myself at risk in order to keep you safe and prevent his temptations from reaching you!"

"I don't care!"

The harsh words cut through the air. The dull anger that had been festering in Lotor finally took charge, latching onto these maliciously simple words. He stood, taking two steps toward Lance, glaring down at the pathetic human.

"You don't care?" he echoed, his voice low and quiet yet somehow more threatening than it was when raised. "You don't care that if you fall to Shiro's promises, you'll be dooming yourself to an eternity as a creature like him?! You don't care that I am the only obstacle in the way of you living an excruciating eternity in hell? You don't care that all he wants is to get your soul and he will promise you anything in order to get it?!" His voice was getting louder now, though. Full of anger he'd not felt for millenia, full of a vile hatred that stuck to his words and his tongue, poisoning his lungs with each breath. "Then I would love to see the pair of you, tortured in hell, still insisting that you don't care because you'll have each other. I would love to see you holding Keith's hand, not caring about who skins you alive or who burns your flesh or who beats you and degrades you and takes all of your insecurities to make so, so much worse. I'd love to see you not caring when you're beyond redemption and wishing you could take it all back."

The words settled.

They were heavy, malicious, cruel and yet so honest. So very, very honest. Lotor had never been so rude and brash. He'd never spoken without considering his words. And never had he told Lance of such a brutal reality that he was very likely to experience.

Lance grit his teeth. He rejected the words. He forced away the brutal honesty about the life he could live or how hellish it would be and how futile his feelings would be when he was enduring his torture. He pushed away the cruel tone and the malicious words. He focused only on the rage that had been building up from years of bullying, of insecurity, of being left behind or being ignored or anything that could summon the slightest little inkling of hatred. The coil, wound so tightly in his stomach from years of holding everything back, snapped.

He swung his fist. It was clumsy, and uncoordinated, and oh so easy for Lotor to catch with one hand. The angel's expression was neutral once more, careless at such a typical display of emotion. How very human of Lance to try and end an argument with violence. Lotor's hold on his fist tightened.

"Yield," he ordered simply in such a bored voice that it only irritated Lance further. The human swung his other fist with an indignant cry, but it was caught in the same manner. Again, Lotor simply ordered- "Yield."

Lance tugged at his hands, getting one hand released and only trying to hit Lotor again. Such an infantile display. Lotor grabbed his wrist, twisted it. He used this hold on Lance to turn him, pinning him to the wall with his arm twisted behind his back. He held him in place.

"Yield, or I will pull your arm and dislocate your shoulder. Yield, or I will break your wrist. Fighting will get you nowhere, Lance."

And for a few moments, Lance continued to squirm, to move back without hurting himself- before his body sagged as the tension flooded out of him and he submitted, doing as commanded. He closed his eyes, sniffling a little, the anger being smothered by an overwhelming depression that enveloped him entirely. Lotor released him and simply watched as Lance crumpled to his knees on the floor, hugging himself, choked up and soon starting to sob.

And Lotor just watched him for a few long moments before reclaiming his seat on the desk. How he wished he could just leave, but abandoning Lance while he was in such a fearful and vulnerable state would leave him open to Shiro. He may be pised off at Lance, but he had enough humanity to keep him protected.

Unless...

Lotor frowned a little. He traced where he had first laid down the neutral zone, trying to locate Shiro's energy from somewhere around there to see if Shiro lived or hid there and, surely enough, he felt the surge of negative energy brushing along his fingertips like electricity.

And he took ahold of the little thread of energy he had found. He stood, holding tightly to it and curling it around his fingers despite how it zapped and hissed and turned his fingertips a sooty black in response.

"I'll return shortly," he said to Lance, who had since crawled onto the bed and settled under the blankets. He didn't get a response, so he simply followed the thread. He closed his eyes, pulling the dark energy close and trailing after it until he reached the end of the thread.

He opened his eyes, the world around him materialising and around him. His feet settled on the floor and he looked around, sighing softly. A warehouse. It was miserable- dark and wet, with broken pipes and holes in the roof, etcetera. It was grimy and a little disgusting but if he were to find Shiro anywhere, he doubted that it would be somewhere like a five star hotel.

Then he heard the howl. It wasn't from a normal animal- it was loud enough to shake the foundations of the warehouse, making it tremble around him. Water droplets spilled from the roof and the broken pipes and he tensed when he felt the ground tremble. Whatever had howled, it had picked up his scent. He glanced around, soon able to hear the heavy panting and the loud footsteps of a hellhound that turned a corner, spotted him, and let out an echoing bark. Lotor's eyes widened, he took an instinctive step back and prepared to have to fight the creature off. She dashed over, ran a few circles around Lotor that made him panic, trying to keep his eyes on the large and slobbering mouth with it's gnashing teeth.

He tried to take a step back, prepared to disappear or to escape. He had no weapons on him- of course he didn't- so he wouldn't be capable of fighting back if this thing attacked him. No sooner than he had tried to step back did the hellhound leap on him, barking and howling. One paw was on his chest- too heavy to push away- and the beast had trapped him. She howled again, barking and yapping. Her tail was wagging, thumping against walls and boxes and hitting the floor hard. Lotor kept his eyes on the beast, holding both hands out to try to push the creature's face back and keeping it at least arms length away.

"She doesn't bite."

Shiro's voice was disembodied -- it echoed throughout the concave space of his old warehouse, the voice cascading back and forth about the walls in a rumbling sort of way... like thunder. Or drums. Atlas, upon hearing her demon's voice, instantly pulled back, thumping back down on all four feet and spinning around to try and sniff out her master. His effort of keeping concealed from the mortal realm was fooled when Atlas found him and barked at him eagerly, running circles around where she felt his aura until he would present himself. Shiro had disappeared the moment he felt Lotor's magic searching for him -- like greedy fingers combing their way through something in search of a prize. He had vanished and he had watched -- watched as Lotor appeared and gave a disgusted once-over of the place and then encounter the suddenly uncharacteristic Hellhound. She did not try to attack him, as Shiro discreetly commanded her to, but instead her pouncing was curious and friendly. Shiro could tell Lotor obviously couldn't tell any sorts of difference, and when he saw the angel poise for attack, he knew it was time to step in... he didn't want that angel even touching his hound anymore.

The relief Lotor felt when the paw lifted from his chest- he couldn't really describe it. Other than saying it was like a weight lifting from his chest, but that wasn't the smartest description he could offer. He brought himself to sit up, one hand resting on his chest where her paw had been- where most of the weight had been placed. If he were a human, she surely would have crushed his lungs from that.

Shiro appeared suddenly, stepping from his void. He glared at Lotor, a sneer on his lips. "She doesn't bite unless I tell her to," he continued, reaching up to rub at her neck. Atlas sat beside him, licking at his arm with that large, slobbering tongue of hers. She seemed proud of herself... Shiro didn't know why.

"Why are you here?" Shiro's questions were suddenly sharp and snappy -- like whips. "You've already ruined my day. What more could you possibly want?"

"I wanted to find out where you hid," Lotor said as he brought himself to his feet. "And remind you to keep your distance from Lance. Your words are tempting and it's difficult to keep convincing him that you're not going to help him." He brushed himself off a little, looking at the wet paw mark that was left on his chest and grimacing a little. He looked up at the hound, towering almost twice Shiro's height, before his eyes flickered back to Shiro. "I didn't know that you had a pet. I suppose I didn't take you for the kind of person to own one." He held out his hand, watching as she leant down (almost lying down) to be short enough to sniff his hand. She butted her nose against his hand, earning a small smile from Lotor.

Shiro scowled at the scene before him. In the back of his head, he hissed at Atlas to move away from him -- and when Atlas's aura asked him why, her head cocked and eyes round, Shiro just told her that Lotor was dangerous. Unconvinced but willing, Atlas sat back up to full size, watching both angel and demon with sparkling, curious black eyes.

"Every demon gets a Hellhound," he said quietly. "We protect each other. Her name is Atlas. If you even think about hurting her, I'll rip your wings from their sockets and feed them to her for a nice treat. Some sauce and some ranch dressing. Everyone likes hot wings, yeah?" Shiro shook his head, trying not to smile at his joke. It was time to be serious. "I can't exactly keep my distance from Lance because Keith likes him so much. I'm tied to his soul, remember?"

"And yet you appeared to Lance and Keith earlier in order to tempt my human. The suave acting, the handsome suit, you even polished your horns- I can't believe that it was done solely to look good for someone you'd already won over." He sighed a little, letting his hand rest by his side. "Her name is Atlas? Why did you choose that name?" His curiosity won him over too easily. He had come here to discuss Lance and Keith, but instead he was focusing on the curious dog sitting beside Shiro. With her goofy smile and her sparkling eyes that hardly fit the characteristics of such a monstrous animal.

His eyes returned to Shiro's features, studying his expression for a few moments. He let out a quiet sigh, noting the irritation crossing the other's features.

Shiro held his tongue for as long as he could... trying hard to keep from entertaining the angel who had broken into his home just to chastise him about Lance and Keith and shining his fucking horns. But... his love for Atlas took over, and he found it hard to bite back her story for much longer.

"Atlas is Greek," he muttered, throwing his gaze to the floor. His cheeks flushed, and then they seemed to deepen in color all the more so when Atlas leaned down to give him and his burning face a large kiss, her gigantic tail thumping behind them as she encouraged her master to go on. "It means 'to carry'. Atlas... supports me. She's the only thing in the universe that does. I wanted to give her a special name... not like any of those edgy fucking ones like 'Fang' or 'Soul-snatcher' all the other idiots from Hell like to name their hounds. I waited three hundred years to name her, figured it out when she curled up next to me after a pretty rough round of torture..." Shiro trailed off, letting his eyes find his loyal hound, who ducked down beside him so that their faces were level. Shiro reached up and patted her head, lifting his hand to scratch behind her ear for a moment.

Shiro let the words settle and the softer sort of moment live for a bit longer before he took his hand from Atlas's head, and turned around to face Lotor again. His harsh stare killed the moment like a blade killed the heart. "So, you've got a problem with people letting themselves be presentable? Ever heard of first impressions?" he said darkly, gritting his teeth. "Nevermind. Of course you don't. It's obvious you don't learn any sort of manners in that paradise you call home. Barging into my house, asking personal questions, pushing your magic into my fucking head when I didn't even ask you to. You're a mess, Lotor."

"I don't have a problem with how you present yourself. I have an issue with you choosing to look that much better than usual solely to tempt Lance." The worst part was that it was working, but he couldn't tell Shiro that. He'd get cocky. He'd be smug and know how well his little tricks worked. "I don't understand why you're creating some rivalry between us. I asked you if you could avoid tainting Lance and trying to convince him to stray from the path I'm putting him on, but you can't even honour our agreement."

He glanced to the door, his thoughts returning to Lance for just a moment. "I fought with Lance. Your influence, as small as it may be, pushed him toward violence and encouraged his anger. That's why I came here- not to invade your home or ask personal questions, but to ask you to keep your distance. You've already established that being polite will get me nowhere, so now I'm telling you directly- leave him alone. Stop encouraging Keith to turn him. Stop sending Keith over and I'll stop letting Lance go to visit him." It was difficult to remain civil when dealing with Shiro. Something about the demon was infuriating.

"They're in love, Lotor," Shiro said after a moment's pause. He flicked his eyes upon to the angel, brow furrowed. "Maybe not yet, but they will be. You don't have to be an angel to feel their connection. Are you really willing to split apart soulmates just because of a little dirty influence?"

Shiro gave a sigh, and rolled his eyes, turning around to face Atlas. He kept up his act of quiet thoughtfulness for a bit longer, rubbing at Atlas's neck and scratching beneath her chin. "I could stop talking to Keith altogether and he'd still go to Lance. You could do all you wanted to Lance and he'd still go to Keith," he hummed. "Nothing stops soulmates. I thought you would realize that, feathers. Angels are the ones who get to keep their soulmates, anyways..."

"They do?" Lotor's voice came before he could stop himself. "Do all angels get soulmates?" Curse his curiosity! Such impulsive speaking- he was going to make a mistake and say the wrong thing if he let himself speak as freely as this. "I've frequently seen partners while returning home, but I didn't think that all angels would be accompanied by a soulmate."

"Everyone has a soulmate. Had. Had a soulmate," Shiro said, his voice a little bitter. He looked down, still absently rubbing on Atlas. "Not just lovers, either. Pets, friends, siblings. Everyone has another living presence tied to their soul. When you go to Heaven, you get to keep them. All the angels have soulmates. Closest thing a demon has to a soulmate is his Hellhound... but it depends on the demon, I guess."

"Then I mustn't be an angel."

The words hung heavy in the air for a few long moments. They took a few moments to process, and Lotor only realised what he had said a few seconds after hearing them leave his lips. He glanced at Shiro before averting his eyes, deciding to look at Atlas instead. "So she's essentially your soulmate?" he asked after a few moments, a small and sad smile on his lips. It must be nice. He'd never been told anything about his own soulmate. He'd never been told about whether or not he had one, where they were... nothing. He was just led on, believing that while others would have partners, he didn't. That he'd never had one. Finding out that he was supposed to have a soulmate... it was... "It must be nice to have her, then. You gave her the name she deserves."

Shiro watched him, some of that previous anger in his system morphing into a strange sort of curiosity. "Yeah. I guess so," he said quietly, nodding his head. "She feels my pain. She cures minor wounds. We can communicate with feelings... it's like offbrand soulmates, I guess..."

After a moment or so of silence, Shiro drew his hands from Atlas and began to move forward, watching Lotor carefully as he took his tentative steps. "So... you don't have a soulmate?" he asked, cocking his head. "No person? No animal? Not even like a parrot or something?" Upon Lotor's slow nod, Shiro furrowed his brow. His tail flicked curiously behind him as he thought about it, racking his head hard for any information about soulmates and angels... surely there had to be some reason Lotor didn't have a soulmate... aside from the fact he was a pain in the ass, of course.

"Oh," Shiro said after a few moments of thought, his head straightening up from his thoughtfully cocked position. "You don't have a soulmate because they were sent to Hell." His voice was proud and chipper at the pride in figuring the little puzzle out, but when Shiro flicked his eyes to Lotor's, he felt a little bit of his brightness fade at the suddenly pale nature of Lotor's face. "Oh," he repeated, this time a little flatter. "Shit. Sorry, man. That blows... maybe you can find someone else?"

Atlas huffed knowingly behind him. Shiro's eyes shot open at the feeling she expressed, and he spun around, waving a finger. "Shut up!" he said, cheeks glowing red. "That's not what I meant."

The Hellhound just looked at him. Shiro could swear he could see her grinning with a slick sort of pride. Lotor frowned at the two of them.

"I'll... I don't know what I'm going to do about this," he murmured. It was disheartening- hearing that every other angel would have a soulmate but he was stuck alone. "I might confront the Goddess of the White Lion- she decides who goes where and adjusts things accordingly. She must have decided not to tell me about my... my soulmate, so I'll discuss that with her when I next can."

A few moments passed before he cleared his throat and straightened up, deciding not to dwell on such a depressing subject any longer. He could wish for a soulmate but that wouldn't change anything, so it would be better not to think of it. "I should be on my way back. Lance is a little erratic and I don't want him to feel abandoned."

Shiro watched him, face still a bit blazing from Atlas's little prompting, but his features suddenly straight and solemn. "Alright," he muttered, nodding as he straighten up as well. Shiro ran his hands down the front of his jacket, smoothing it out. "Next time, give me a bit of a warning before just busting in, alright? A demon's gotta have his privacy..."

"Yeah, I will."

There were a few moments of silence. Shiro could feel Lotor gathering up his magic, preparing to teleport away. A question sat on Shiro's tongue, itching at him, yearning to just leave Shiro's lips and meet the ears of that stupid angel before him. Shiro waited until he could feel Lotor just about ready to fade away before spitting the stupid thing out into the warehouse.

"Why did you lie to Keith?" Shiro asked, the words leaving him like they were something vile. He looked to the ground, desperate to meet anything but Lotor's watchful eyes. "Why didn't you tell him I cried?"

Lotor stopped. He frowned a little, watching Shiro for a few moments. Why had he lied to Keith? "I suppose..." he studied Shiro for a moment. So much anxiety was running through him. How uncharacteristic. "It wasn't my place to tell him that you had cried. He relies on you and he may not show it, but he respects you. You've given him more than he could have found on his own, and I didn't want to undermine you or dampen your influence by telling him that you cried." He didn't know why it was so uncomfortable to tell Shiro this. It was just honest. "I know how easily humans turn. If he finds that you have some weak patch, he'll take advantage of it. He'll find some sense of power over you. He'll lose respect for you because he'll think he's better than you. I didn't want that to happen."

Shiro just nodded, his eyes still focused on the floor, studying a patch of mold by his feet. He scuffed at it with his toe while he listened, trying not to let his expressions show how grateful he was for Lotor's one and only act of thought. Lotor was right of course... Keith respected him but... but just barely. Keith wasn't one for authority and Shiro knew that. One weak spot and Keith would lose any ounce of respect or fear he had in Shiro... hell, he'd already showed he wasn't one for listening.

Lotor stopped for a few moments. He was tempted to just leave, but... but he had a question of his own. "Why do you think I was being cruel when that happened? I hadn't expected you to cry and I didn't think that it would hurt you. Why do you act as if I were being malicious?" He truly hadn't had ill intent when he'd done that, he didn't understand why Shiro had made it out like it was some form of torture.

Jaw pulsing and teeth grinding behind his lips, Shiro gave a deep huff, tail flicking behind him. He had uprooted the mold completely — flipped it over so the disgusting patch of fungi and bacteria showed clearly in the dim lighting of Shiro's warehouse. Shiro watched it for a moment... and then crushed it with the toe of his boot.

"You were dealing with powers you didn't even understand," he muttered darkly. "You shoved the feeling of peace into my system and you ripped it away just after it began to take root." Shiro finally tore his stare from the smushed mold, and let it bore into Lotor's own guilty one. "You could never understand that kind of suffering." Shiro lifted his foot, and scraped the bottom of his shoe on the hard concrete floor. He turned around, looking at Atlas. She moved to press her cool nose on his forehead, sniffling weakly in a form of gentle comfort. Shiro reached up to pet the side of her face.

"It was reckless and cruel — you need to think next time you go playing with all your fancy powers of light," Shiro said, ducking his head. "You're going to hurt someone worse than you hurt me if you continue throwing them around like an idiot. Go to a library and do your research or something. Go ask White Lion whatever. The fact a demon knows more about your powers than you do is kinda sad. Now piss off."

Lotor watched him for a few long moments, processing what he had said. A second later, he was on one knee, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"Please, Shiro, accept my apology. I hadn't considered the consequences of my actions and my lacking knowledge of the abilites I have caused more harm than I could have anticipated. You're correct- it was reckless and cruel for me to use powers you are not accustomed to. I'm truly sorry for the damage I have caused and I sincerely hope that you can forgive me for it."

The display was... unorthodox. An angel apologising to a demon alone was unusual, but an angel kneeling before the demon and pleading for forgiveness? That was unheard of entirely. And yet, every word Lotor said was true. He hadn't intended on upsetting Shiro and he was showing it earnestly. It was getting difficult to believe that Lotor thought that he was above demons- as all angels did.

Shiro didn't even turn around until Atlas nudged him to do so, but when he did he felt his jaw fall slack and his eyes go wide at the pathetic display before him. It took a good collection of seconds to even process a single thought, let alone the slew of earnest words and apologies that the angel let free. Shiro just stood there, watching -- tense with shock and disbelief. The moment everything in his mind had clicked however, and the gears began their proper turning, Shiro felt his lips curl upwards in a slick sort of grin.

How... delicious.

Shiro was dumbstruck with surprise and a bit of giddy joy at the sight, his head cocking itself to the side. Lotor's display was simply delectable to the eyes... even if Shiro found himself disgusted at the idea of forgiveness, he could not deny how beautiful it was to see such a creature was kneeling at his feet.

"Apology accepted," Shiro purred after a moment or so of silence, nearly unaware at the rumbling pleasure that curled about his tone as the words left his smiling lips. He strolled forwards, gazing down at the masterfully carved features of the angel who looked up to him... the sight so up close left a sparkle of something in Shiro's chest. "How could I say no when you went and got on your knees for me? Such a pretty sight... say next time, we should use that mouth for something other than begging, hm?"

Getting to his feet again, Lotor met Shiro's eyes. He was utterly clueless.

"Like what?" he murmured, frowning. As if total abstinence wasn't bad enough, Lotor was clueless about sexual activity entirely. It wasn't clear whether that should make sexual references more or less amusing. "I ought to return, though. Thank you for accepting my apology."

He took a slight step back, prepared to disappear when his eyes settled on Atlas and he held out his hand again. He pet behind her ears and smiled warmly. "Until next time. And yes, I will be sure to give you a warning before arrival. Unless you have anything else to discuss, I'll be taking my leave." He straightened up, pulled away, and began conjuring up the energy necessary. He should have returned to Lance a while ago, he was just distracted when it came time to leave. Thanks to Shiro, evidently.

He was just going to hope that Lance wasn't doing anything too stupid in response to such powerful emotions.

Lotor vanished quickly after that. Shiro watched him go, his brow furrowed, a slight frown on his lips due to Lotor's obliviousness to his joking, but a fluttery feeling in his chest due to Lotor's previous state. He turned around, scoffing lightly as he spun to gaze upon his Hellhound. Shiro moved close to her, feeling her set her heavy head upon his shoulder. He reached an arm to hug her close, just letting a long breath go from his chest.

"What an asshole, huh?" he said softly into her ear. "He's making everything real complicated."

Atlas whined in response, the sound coming from deep in her chest. She nudged Shiro a little, and Shiro responded with a gentle sort of chuckle, understanding her and her thoughts perfectly.

"Maybe he's not that bad," Shiro muttered, rolling his eyes. "He just doesn't know what he's doing... shame I'm gonna have to mess up his first mission, huh?"

The Hellhound gave a huff, and pulled away. Her eyes narrowed. Shiro narrowed his eyes back. "What?" he asked. She huffed and cocked her head. Shiro reflected the action. "Don't even look at me like that. Stop..."

Lotor settled down in Lance's room. He had apologised to Lance, too, and the ordeal was over. Lance was fine, healthy, and nothing had gone wrong.

And yet, for some reason, Lotor couldn't stop thinking of Shiro and of how well that had gone. It was better than anticipated, anyway. Sure, he still felt bad over accidentally hurting Shiro, but he was left feeling warm from knowing that they had made up. Or that they'd gotten as close as possible to making up. Perhaps some kind of a truce would be possible for the future.

If only he knew.


	7. Dealing With A Demon

"I'm sorry, Keith. I can't. No more."

Again and again. Shiro was tired -- so so tired of Keith and his dangerous persistence. He couldn't even count how many times he'd been summoned for a deal on his fingers anymore... the situation was nearing reckless. Keith was nearing reckless.

They hadn't spoken in days... not since the fiasco with Lance and Lotor in that living room of his. Shiro had stayed close to him, of course, but not once did he present his physical form to Keith. He didn't greet him, he didn't tease him. Seldomly he would whisper something in Keith's ear, but it was mostly always about doing laundry or remembering to eat something. Shiro kept his tired distance, just watching as Keith's shoulders slumped less and as Keith's eyes brightened...

The same went for Lance as well... but the distance didn't seem to be doing anything to that delicious little progress of Lance's corruption.

Shiro would stay away from him whenever Keith and Lance would meet up for movies or walks in the park. In turn, Lotor seemed to be doing the same to Keith -- simply walking beside Lance with frequently averted stares and wan attempts at conversation with the rather gruff demon. Shiro could tell, however, that Lance was slipping from Lotor's grasp. It wasn't even just the scent of the boy's inward sin and hellish curiosity that gave it away, but his appearance began to reflect that of Keith's only a month or so ago. Lance's head was always ducked. His eyes were always dark and fitted with the dark bags of ill slumber. He laughed when he spoke to Keith... and when he laughed there was no mistaking a sort of slick darkness that slithered about each chuckle. His soul was growing darker and darker -- that spot of inky blackness was growing, eating up the light with its greedy, twisted sort of obscurity. The corruption smelled just delectable to Shiro... and the creases of worry that lined themselves between Lotor's brow looked even tastier.

But it wasn't time to think about Lance and his delicious darkness. Instead, Shiro had to focus upon the rage that split across Keith's face at Shiro's refusal for a deal.

"What do you mean you can't?" Keith seethed bitterly, cocking his head. "You're a demon. You make deals. I'm asking for one -- now take something from me and let me kiss you."

Shiro gave a sigh, but his stoic facade did not falter. He crossed his arms over his chest, and gave Keith a stern, chiding sort of look. "Keith, dealing puts too much strain on your body," he said quietly. "It's too soon after our last one. You need to wai-"

"I'm done waiting!" Keith yelled, his voice loud and piercing to Shiro's delicate ears. Shiro winced, and took a slight step back, his arms uncrossing and falling slowly into fists by his sides as he watched his human huff and puff before him. "I've been waiting for sixteen years Shiro! I'm so tired of waiting! I just want my mom back! Why won't you just help me?"

Keith's voice echoed into the dead atmosphere of his home, the enraged shouts hanging heavy in the still air. Shiro kept a straight face, but his brow shifted, pinching in a gentle furrow of worry. Their eyes were locked, Keith's wet and threatening to spill those glistening tears down his cheeks, Shiro's dull and free from their usual flicker. The stare was powerful -- the connection nearly unbreakable. It took every fiber of strength in Shiro's body to flick his gaze to the floor.

"I'm sorry, Keith," he said, his voice dry. "I know you've been searching... maybe it's... maybe it's just time to give up."

Keith gave a growl -- pitiful and weak coming from a human, of course, but a sign of his own fury nonetheless. "Don't you dare say that," he snapped. "You don't get to say that. Not after everything I've given you for this. No... no you took too much from me just to tell me to give up."

When Shiro didn't respond, Keith gave a huffing sort of snarl, and rolled up his sleeve. He held out his forearm, turning his hand downwards so his wrist showed clean. Shiro couldn't help but flick his eyes to the white flesh presented before him -- blood pumped in his ears. Blood from Keith... Shiro squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, almost holding his breath so he didn't have to smell it.

"Don't tempt me," Shiro muttered quietly. "I'll leave."

Keith ignored him, moving forwards. "Drink," he said sharply. "I know you want to, Shiro. Just make the deal with me and I'll give you more blood."

"I can't Keith," Shiro growled, whipping his head up to face him. Keith was close, his wrist even closer. Shiro could feel his heartbeat -- he could hear the thick pumping of blood through each vessel and each vein. Shiro swallowed hard, his throat bobbing weakly. Shiro's skin began to itch... his scars began to ache -- each one whispering to him to just give in. "You're not strong enough."

"Fuck that," Keith muttered. "I've been through a lot more than a little vampire bite. Now shut up and just make the deal."

Shiro was quiet for a few long seconds, each tick of the clock loud and booming in his rushing ears and his suddenly fuzzy head. Keith's heart beat faster than the seconds of the clock -- much much faster. All the ticks and all the pounds and all the thumps made Shiro's mind whirl, his whole body growing tense at the sudden sensory overload. The blood would help with that. Fuck, if he didn't take the blood, he'd be messed up for days afterwards. Full moon was close -- maybe a day or so away. Shiro was growing his weakest. The blood would help him with that too.

"This is the last time," Shiro murmured, his voice shaky -- trembling with vulnerability. He suddenly heard Lotor's voice in his ears, telling how eager Keith would be to jump and strike upon one of Shiro's weaknesses. Shiro just had to wonder how Keith found out about how desperate he could get for a drop of human blood... did he read something? Could he tell from the last time? Shiro didn't care... he just knew he'd been exposed, his system dark and brooding as Keith pulled him close and pressed their lips together.

Tongues met. Teeth knocked. Shiro absently bit at Keith's bottom lip, his breath hitching when fangs split skin and the irony taste of human blood met his taste buds. When Keith pulled back, his lip gushing, Shiro found the cockiest smile splayed about his lips. He held up his hand and pressed up up against Shiro's mouth, not even letting Shiro speak.

"Yeah, yeah," he hummed. "Now drink up, pet."

Shiro growled, but he didn't respond. He just bit down with sharp teeth.

\--

"I'm telling you, it isn't healthy! He gets paler every time I see him!"  
"And I've told you that I can't do anything about it. He's making poor choices and I can't divert him from that path."

Another argument. Their fifth that week. Lance's temper was getting out of control and every time Lotor checked his aura, the black spot was indeed growing. Devouring Lance's goodness and all that was pure inside him. It was nauseating, seeing so many months of work going down the drain. "Please, you need to sleep. You've been so miserable lately," Lotor pleaded- watching as Lance lit a cigarette and opened his bedroom window, sitting on the windowsill despite how precariously he was balanced.

"I can't sleep! I worry about him and you know that it stops me from sleeping!"

"No, it doesn't. You stop yourself from sleeping, Keith is irrelevant." He was getting tired of this. His attempts to save Lance were seeming fruitless by now but he didn't want to give up. He'd been so proud when he'd aided Lance's recovery, but now... now he just felt so powerless to save him.

Lance shook his head, setting the cigarette between his lips and turning on his phone. He studied his background- a picture of Keith he'd taken on one of their most recent dates, smiling a little. He pulled the cigarette away, watching the smoke blow past his lips. "I just love him. I don't like seeing him so sickly. I want to make sure he gets better."  
"I want you to get better," Lotor argued again, glaring a little. "I've spent months helping you and all you do in return is start to smoke, drink often, and push yourself toward an early death- and an eternity in hell as a reward for it."

"God, don't you ever shut the fuck up?! I'm getting sick of hearing your fucking voice, grandpa!"  
"Grandpa?" Lotor echoed, brows furrowing.

"White fucking hair, three thousand years old- you're a fucking creep for spending all of your time with me. I'm seventeen, dude, I could call the police." Lance didn't even look up from his phone.

"And what will you tell them? The imaginary angel in your bedroom is a pervert?" Lotor mocked, grimacing. Lance didn't reply.

And the conversation died, as it usually did. It was typical for it to get to this state nowadays. All Lance did was argue and bully and drink and smoke and spend time letting Keith corrupt his soul. And to think that they were soulmates- it was mockable. It was pathetic.

But at least Lance had a soulmate.

"Lance, don't let it end like this," he said softly. "Please. I just want you to have the best future possible."  
"What, and spend my afterlife as a virgin who obsesses over teenagers? I'd rather go to hell." He grinned a little, evidently enjoying how it felt to bully Lotor- who grit his teeth but fell silent. It was feeling useless. He didn't think that he'd be able to convert Lance at this rate. "Just fuck off. Let me 'doom myself' or whatever it is you keep saying."

"What is wrong with you? How can you be so complacent when faced with ruining eternity for yourself?"

"I just don't care. You should try it. Or maybe you should just get someone to suck your dick. I can't imagine that sexual frustration is doing anything good for you right now."

Lotor watched Lance for a few long moments before sighing and disappearing with a mutter of 'Oh, for goodness sake.' Lance just smiled, relieved to be alone. He'd sleep when he'd finished his cigarette. Probably.

"it's fine Lance. demon stuff lol. i went to the doctor like you told me now im on iron shit or smth like that."

Shiro watched Keith text out the message to Lance, scowling as he peered in his invisible spot over Keith's shoulder.

Keith hadn't just gone to the hospital. Shiro made him go to the hospital -- he literally expended some of his magic to possess Keith's mind and make him call 911. They played it off as a kitchen accident in the E.R -- but the deep, bite mark slashed into Keith's flesh was incredibly obvious and left the doctors with thoughts of calling the police for questioning. Shiro made sure to get Keith out of there fast as soon as the wounds were properly stitched and bandaged, and the supplement pills were prescribed for Keith's pale, anemic system. They had gone to the hospital the night after Shiro had drained him... Keith had barely been able to function enough to tell Shiro to fuck off when he told Keith to collect himself. Lance had been blowing up his phone ever since they FaceTimed just four hours before Shiro had his idiotic human rushed to the E.R.

If Keith's cocky gusto and stupid medical bills hadn't been enough to make Shiro weary, the want in Shiro's system certainly did. Two drainings in one month had made him twitchy. Three had made him desperate. Shiro was rubbing his arms, trailing his pointed claws up and down his skin and his scars in a distracting manner, his shoulders tense and high on his body. He promised himself as soon as Keith would send that message, he'd leave to go cuddle with Atlas or take a walk by himself somewhere in the park.

But he waited. Waited until Lance answered back with a short: good. im worried about you...

Then an idea sparked in Shiro's head.

He straighten up, eyes shooting open. Shiro, after gathering up his magic to teleport, left but not to his warehouse nor to the concrete pathway from the park. Shiro simply focused his magic on one house -- on one bedroom and on one boy. One boy who was desperate... one boy who was worried...

"Hey, Lance," Shiro's voice rang out clearly in the physical realm as he materialized in Lance's bedroom. He watched Lance start from the window, and then nervously dragged his gaze along the room...

Lotor was nowhere to be seen.

Shiro was dressed in a regular old dress coat and a handsome but basic pair of slacks. He strolled forwards, hands in his front pockets as he morosed his way through Lance's bedroom. "So what?" he said, looking around. "No angel? I was actually coming by to talk to him..." A nice lie if Lotor happened to be listening from somewhere. "Whatcha' up to, sitting in the window like that?"

Lance frowned, snuffing out the cigarette on the windowsill and keeping his eyes fixed on Shiro as he flicked the cigarette. It landed in one of the bushes outside.

"Smoking," he said absently, keeping his reply short and direct, not wanting to give any room for the conversation to expand. If Shiro had something to say, then this is when he would say it. Without provoking. In such a blatant little manner that Shiro wouldn't be able to push any blame onto Lance. If he came for a deal, he'd need to say it directly. Lotor had told him a few essentials about putting up with a demon after one of his first meetings with Keith. Simple rules, really- don't give room to be manipulated, don't trust a demon, keep closed off, don't make a deal. Well, those were the simple ones he'd been given so they were the only ones he remembered.

He leant forward a little, tucking his phone into his pocket. He studied Shiro's outfit, frowning slightly. Lotor had mentioned something about Shiro dressing up to show off. Was he doing that now? He seemed underdressed, compared to last time. Must have just been something about first impressions. Lance slid off of the windowsill and settled in his room, standing opposite Shiro and waiting for the demon to begin conversation again- as he inevitably would. Lance's curiosity may be nagging at him about why Shiro was looking for Lotor if he hated him so much, but he kept quiet.

Shiro gave a snort. "Smokings no good for you," he chided softly, cocking his head. Shiro noticed Lance's calmather bored way of speaking with a flutter of a thrill, relaxed way of speaking, feeling a flutter of thrill sparkle off somewhere in his chest. Shiro gave a soft sigh, and rose up his shoulders a bit. "I lied about talking to Lotor. I came to talk to you, actually. Feathers just has this thing against me and you... kinda rude actually. You're almost an adult. Gotta make your own choices."

"Mhm."

Lazily, Shiro turned on his heel and made his way over to Lance's drawing desk. He studied some of the doodles, noticing all of the pretty sketches of Keith scattered about Lance's open sketchbook. Shiro took it as an advantage. "You're worried about Keith," he mused quietly, dragging a clawed finger across the grainy paper. Shiro turned the book back one page. And then another. His eyes froze onto a larger drawing on the right hand sheet -- a drawing of a beautiful man with long white hair and... and nervous eyes. Shiro looked at it a few moments -- he let the stare of Lotor's drawing lock with the stare of his own. "You're a good artist, Lance..."

He shook his head, cursing himself for losing his focus. Shiro straightened up to look Lance in the eye. "Keith is okay. I made him go to the hospital... that kid has the worst diet, let me tell you." Shiro chuckled the last bit, shaking his head. "He was so pale because I drank his blood. We make deals like that -- because he doesn't have a soul to offer up. I didn't want to, but I've got a soft spot for the stuff."

"Fucking hell," Lance muttered beneath his breath, glaring a little at Shiro. At least now he knew why Keith was so pale recently.

Shiro flicked a sharp stare a Lance, a little surprised by his snarkish tone... but he disregarded it, shaking his head as he turned back to the sketchbook. He leaned down to look at it, his head cocked and his mind working hard behind his eyes. Why he was so enthralled by a few sketches of the angel he had come to loathe... Shiro didn't know. He just couldn't take his eyes off of it.

"Why'd you draw him so sad looking?" Shiro asked, picking up the sketchbook. He pretended not to notice the pulsing of Lance's jaw as he watched the demon handle his precious notebook, and instead Shiro just drummed his fingers over the back cover, cocking his head again. His tail flicked behind him in an entranced curiosity. "Lotor, I mean. He's supposed to be living an afterlife of luxury... if you draw an angel so sad, I wonder how you'd draw a demon. Have any cute doodles of me in here?"

"You're not cute enough to doodle," Lance murmured despite having a simple sketch of him just a few pages over. He could still recall Lotor's disapproving tone when he'd found out who Lance was drawing. "But I just draw Lotor as I see him. He's a lot more sad than he lets on. I think I'm letting him down but at this point, I just don't care." He let his eyes drift over to his sketchpad, watching anxiously as Shiro's fingernails pressed little dents into the cover of his sketchpad.

Shiro frowned at him, but nodded along, dragging his claws along the curvature of Lotor's figure. He flicked his eyes up to Lance, swallowing a little as he casted his eyes to the side. Shiro turned the book around to show Lance the drawing he'd been marveling, and tapped at it. "Would you mind if I kept this?" he asked quietly. "I like it. Might just commission you to draw more sad pictures of your angel friend. His sorrow is just delicious, isn't it?"

"Yeah, do what you want," he mumbled, keeping his eyes averted from Shiro and instead choosing to look back at his phone. "Hey, Keith hasn't texted me back. You can have the drawing for free if you tell me his condition. I don't want my boyfriend dying on me..." He glanced at him, quick to look away, a little heat on his cheeks. He and Keith hadn't really established that they were boyfriends, but Lance thought that they were and had grown accustomed to calling him his boyfriend.

"Is that a deal?" Shiro said in a deep, slick sort of tone, eye sparkling as he flicked his watchful gaze from the sketchbook up to Lance. He began creeping his way forward to Lance who watched him warily from his side of the room. "I keep you updated on Keith and make sure nothing bad happens to him, you draw me pictures of our pretty angel friend? That sounds like a deal to me... and you don't even have to lose your soul. It's perfect..."

Shiro cocked his head, closing one of his eyes into a seductive little wink. "Nothing'll happen to your precious little Keith... I'll make sure of it," he said in a lurring sort of promise. "Only thing you have to do to protect him is draw for me. I'll come by and collect every Friday? I like dogs. And crows. And beetles. Some Lotor doodles should be nice too, honey... what do you say? Harmless little deal. Won't hurt nobody."  
"Harmless?" Lance echoed, contemplating it. "Lotor's already saying I won't go to heaven, so I don't really see any losses here. Will it get him off my back? Or are we keeping this between us?" Lance asked as he watched Shiro, a small and amused smile on his lips. He could hardly believe himself but nothing was telling him not to and Shiro was being plenty rational so why not? He'd keep his soul, he'd be able to survive and all he had to do was draw one thing a week that he didn't mind handing over. "What'll happen if I don't get something drawn for you, anyway? Will you just refuse to tell me about Keith?" he asked, keeping his gaze fixed on Shiro.

He took a few steps toward him, taking his sketchpad back from the demon. "I want to know the details of this deal before I risk it. Lotor's told me plenty about you and I'm not taking any risks." He grinned a little, putting the book down on his desk again.

"Well, it's a little more complicated than that," Shiro hummed, shrugging his shoulders. He could hear Lance's thoughtfulness. He could taste the gentle consideration in Lance's words. Shiro followed him back to the desk, his hands clasped behind his back as he strolled closer, head still cocked, eyes still flickering. "If you don't follow up your end of the deal, I get to punish you. If I don't pay up my end of the deal, you can punish me. Our essences would be tied together -- if I screw up, you can just give me a little shock and tell me to get my shit together. Works vice versa too... but I doubt it'll be any problems. All I'm asking for is a few little doodles. You draw enough already, it wouldn't be that much of a problem."

 

Shiro peered over Lance's shoulder, running his eyes over his art desk with a look of dull interest. "Lotor is the problem in this equation," he said in a sighing, bitter sort of tone. "There's no doubt he'll be able to see our connection -- us supernatural folk can see auras and souls and bonds you humans cant. He'll probably yell at you for it... and fuck he's going to yell at me... but as long as you tell him that you're doing this to keep Keith safe... to keep yourself stress-free... feathers might just get over it." Shiro slinked over to Lance's side, trying to catch Lance's eye.

"You haven't been sleeping. Keith is just positively tearing you apart," he said in a sarcastic sort of pout. "I'm trying to help you here. And, yeah, I'm asking for something in return but how terrible can a few doodles be in comparison to knowing Keith is safe?" Lance watched him for a few moments.

"Yeah, I uh.. I guess it'd be worth it, yeah. Come on, how do we complete deals? Shake hands or something?" he asked, awkwardly holding out one hand for Shiro to shake, his brows furrowing. He didn't quite sound sure. "Is that it?" He didn't care about Lotor's disapproval. He didn't care that he could almost here the chiding tone or the irritated scolding or the exasperation Lotor almost always held when he dealt with Lance. He didn't know what kind of a reaction this would inspire, but it wasn't a big deal. It wasn't like he was signing away his soul for Keith. It wasn't as if he was going to sacrifice himself just to know about Keith's wellbeing. He'd balanced the pros and cons, canceled all loopholes he could have found for Shiro to exploit and made some of his own. It would just be so easy to agree, and all he had to do was hand over a couple drawings a week? He didn't even need to give away more than one if he didn't want to.

As far as he could tell, there wasn't a downside to the deal itself. The only thing that he might experience backlash from is Lotor, but he really didn't care at this point. If he was supposed to protect Lance, he was doing a bad fucking job. After all, where was he now to stop Lance from doing this? Where was he now to step in, to point out loopholes Shiro might take advantage of? And if he wasn't here to prevent it, how bad could it be?

"Just let me take this deal," he said decisively. "I don't care. I only care about Keith. Seal it."

Shiro felt his system flush with excitement, and he moved close to Lance in a hurry, setting one hand on Lance's hip as he pulled him close. He watched Lance's face go a little paler at the contact, and then watched his eyes darken at the feeling of being so close to such an entity of dark magic. Shiro chuckled, and leaned in close -- their noses just about touching, eyes locked and stares incredibly firm. Shiro dragged his tongue over his lip, and then pulled them back to reveal to Lance a glistening, fanged smile.

"Sealing the deal is up to you, buttercup," Shiro purred, tail flicking behind him in joy. "All you gotta do is kiss me. I can't initiate it -- you take the reigns. Prevents me from forcing anyone into a deal, you know?" Shiro tilted his head to the side, letting his eyes go half-lidded as he stared down into the human boy's curious eyes. "Doesn't have to be long. Don't need to slip me any tongue... won't say I will complain if you do though, lover boy. Oh! And don't worry about what Keith would think. Him and I kiss all the time..."

Lance glanced at him, a little hesitance clear before he took a tight hold on Shiro's shirt collar. He tugged him down, his other arm latching around his neck as he brought their lips together. It was a simple deal, and now it was official. Perhaps he let it linger a little longer than he should have, but the darkness swarming in his chest craved more of the vile evil that tainted Shiro's lips. He wanted more of that little taste of evil. God knows that Lotor wouldn't have approved, but he hardly cared. He finally managed to break away, his cheeks stained a dark red and everything in his system wanting another deal so he could have another kiss.

Regardless, he stepped away and moved to the sketchpad. He tore the drawing of Lotor from the book and offered it up to the demon before him. "There. This should get you through until Friday, right? I'll draw something else of Lotor before then. Probably. Why do you want pictures of Lotor, though? I thought you hated him."

Shiro's eyes had been closed, his head nodding stupidly on his neck as he tasted the ghost of Lance against his lips. My, so many years with Keith had left Shiro a bit desperate for something new... and Lance was positively scrumptious. Shiro fluttered his eyes open, slowly registering Lance's words as he reached out for that grainy piece of sketchbook paper. The moment he had it in his hands, Shiro pulled the drawing to his chest and held it there protectively, slinking backwards from Lance as he thought of an acceptable answer.

A small, red chain -- the links about as thick as paperclips -- connected Shiro and Lance. It was small and insignificant looking... but Shiro knew its true power. He knew its true potential. Shiro tugged on it weakly, testing the tautness of its slack and grinning wildly when he noticed Lance's soft cringe at the feeling. The connection was made. The plan was set in the steadiest of motions.

"I do hate him," Shiro said quietly, nodding. "Think of it as a trophy, love. Every kiss you and I share is a victory over him and his annoying little halo..." Shiro looked down at the paper held close to his chest, eyes thoughtful as he watched it. "Besides... I just adore the way you draw his eyes."

With that, Shiro vanished. His black magic expanded outwards in a rushing sort of gust -- the power rustling paper and flickering the new light bulbs and cooling the temperature of Lance's suddenly deadened bedroom a good few degrees.

Lance watched the space that he'd been stood in for a few more moments, frowning. It didn't matter if he doubted the connection now- there was no way that he could change it. But the way it felt when Shiro had tested their connection- it had made his body shudder and sent discomfort through his body like a shiver down his spine. He didn't like it, but... he didn't have a choice. He just settled down on his bed, seeking the warmth in place of the sudden chill his bedroom had.

"Oh, Lance," came Lotor's voice as the angel appeared beside him. The chains may have been thin to Shiro, but for Lotor they were thick bonds that wrapped around his heart and drifted off in the direction of wherever Shiro was. Burning red, blisteringly hot. He wouldn't be able to touch it, much less try to unravel Lance from this deal. "What have you done?"


	8. Conflict

"I thought it through! It wasn't like he suggested it to me and I said yes without thinking!"  
"No, that's exactly what it was!" Roared Lotor, his anger having gotten the better of him long ago. "I told him to keep away from you! I can't leave you alone for fifteen minutes without you making a mistake that you'll never recover from!" His hands were curled into fists, his teeth grit. Lance glared.

"You don't need to treat me like a child!"  
"Evidently, I do! The second I leave you alone, you do something as impulsive as this! You've made a deal with a demon!"

They'd been arguing for an hour now. Lotor couldn't believe that he'd left Lance alone for so little time and Lance had ruined his own life. And in exchange for what? Not only had Lance attached himself to a demon, but he had betrayed Lotor and subjected him to humiliation that wouldn't fade. All Lotor wanted to do was look after him, and yet Lance was always so intent on ruining his own life. Lotor had attempted to convince him to break the deal but Lance was too intent on keeping it intact so that he could be sure his boyfriend was okay at all times.

"I love Keith! I'm willing to sacrifice a few drawings to know that he's okay! I'm willing to put in the effort of drawing a few extra things a week to know anything that I want to know about Keith at any time!"  
"You appear to be willing to ruin your future, too! Your entire afterlife! Do you want to end up like Shiro? Manipulating vulnerable people into deals to ruin their lives? Saving your own life by sacrificing everybody else's?"

"What, is that all that you think of me?!" Lance's voice was raising, his teeth grit. "That I'm some poor and vulnerable human? That I'm inferior for caring about someone? You aren't fucking better than me!"

"You made a reckless mistake that will cost you your life! You won't be able to save Keith by sacrificing yourself. Take it from someone who knows- heaven without a soulmate is better than hell with one."

The argument was only getting more and more frustrating. Humans were always so intent on ruining their own lives in some way. They always did something that would sabotage their own future. Halfway through Lance's arguing, Lotor disappeared. He didn't have the patience to hear anything else from Lance. He had bigger things to deal with than some reckless human so caught up with love and hatred that he didn't know what was best anymore. The arguments were getting old. Lotor was tired of repeating these points to Lance again and again. It was no different to speaking to Shiro. They were all so ignorant.

He stood outside the warehouse, gritting his teeth as he threw the door open.

"Shiro!" he shouted, his voice loud and echoing through the room. Atlas came bounding toward him but he snapped his fingers at her and she whimpered, moving back, going to find Shiro. "We have something we need to discuss."

Shiro sat up quickly from his mattress, but he instantly soothed himself into a state of dull disinterest, laying back against his bed and shimmying his shoulders to grow comfortable. He wasn't going to let Lotor get beneath his skin — he wasn't even going to give Lotor the benefit of his own reaction. He just laid his head back, arms held behind his head as he settled his eyes to a comfortable close.

"What do you want, feathers?" he hummed quietly, his voice carrying an innocent and oblivious sort of drawl. "Didn't we say you were going to knock next time? You really need to learn a thing or two about personal space..."

Lotor approached, watching the demon. He wasn't playing nice- he'd given Shiro fair warning and now he had taken it all too far. He grabbed Shiro as he lay there, taking ahold of his throat and lifting him from the comfort of his grimy little bed to slam him against the wall. The foundations of the warehouse trembled and the wall dented under the force of such impact.

"I've grown tired of your poor behaviour!" He shouted, flashing his teeth. He had sharp little fangs- an uncharacteristic trait for an angel. "I've given you more chances than I promised and you've abused each liberty i've given you! Again and again you prove yourself dishonest, poorly-mannered, and now you break deals you agreed to! You act as if you don't deserve even the poorest treatment, accuse me of being biased against you for being a demon, and yet I gave you chance after chance to prove that you weren't what every other angel make you creatures out to be!" His hold tightened, gorgeously painted nails digging into Shiro's flesh and threatening to draw blood.

There was an unfamiliar look in his eyes. The tone of his words showed pure malice, unfiltered and no longer being restrained. Angels rarely felt such negative emotions, yet Lotor's anger for Shiro in that moment had torn through centuries of peace and tranquility. He had put a little faith in a demon, hoping for some kind of mutual trust to be discovered- and instead he was met with such outrageous behaviour that he had resorted to violence and insults.

Oh, how easily Shiro got under his skin.

Shiro watched Lotor, writhing beneath the angels strong hold. It wasn't just the strength of his fingers digging into Shiro's throat that left him suddenly defenseless, but the delicious magic that poured out through Lotor's aura in his furious anger. His hands had instinctively flown to Lotor's wrist, but even if Shiro struggled, he knew he'd be too weak to get out of Lotor's grasp. The moon was full and flowed in the sky outside Shiro's window, peering at him with a watchful eye as he slacked his muscles against Lotor's strength — telling him he wasn't nearly powerful enough to even think of overpowering the angel infused with light magic.

He would have to get out of it another way.

Shiro tipped his head up, swallowing hard against Lotor's tight grip. He was squeezing hard, but not hard enough to choke the air from his throat. Shiro tugged weakly at Lotor's hand, but otherwise he stopped his struggle. "Isn't this a way to start a conversation?" Shiro murmured, a nervous smile curling up his cheeks. He moved his hand up to Lotor's, brushing against his knuckles. A flush of magic rushed through him, making his breath stutter. "Didn't take you for this kind of guy. You'll have to take me to dinner before I call you daddy, though."

"I know you're used to taking everything as a joke," Lotor hissed as his hold on Shiro's throat tightened, his nails drawing thick globs of black blood. "But we're past that now. You've taken your little trip too far now, and if I have to stop you myself, then I'm going to stop you myself."

Shiro winced, gritting his teeth. His breath hitched, eyes growing wide. "Alright, alright," he said, voice a little more trembly than before. Shiro flicked his eyes off to the side, cursing himself for not waiting another day. He should have known Lotor would have flipped his lid... Shiro's throat was buzzing with the magic that flowed from Lotor's fingertips. "You're angry. Just let me go so we can talk this out like civil angels and demons, huh? I can barely breathe." He tried to turn his head away, trying to wiggle free from some of that pressure against his windpipe. His breath came in as wheezed gasps, chest heaving below Lotor's elbow.

"I told you," he only hissed in response. "We're past that."

"Lotor... come on..." Shiro's voice was near pleading, yet Lotor still didn't show any signs of stopping.

Atlas stalked back and forth behind Lotor, growling deeply — her hackles raised and her teeth gnashing in threat. Shiro urged at her to lunge but... but she didn't. She just continued to prowl back and forth, reaching out to Shiro with her concerned aura as she watched her master struggle.

"I don't want to fight you," Shiro muttered. "Let go. Let's talk."

"What's wrong, demon?" he hissed out, a low and mocking snarl leaving his lips. "You would have leapt at the opportunity to fight me only days ago. Oh, unless~..." he glanced out the window before turning his gaze back to Shiro. "Full moon, hm? You don't want to fight me because you're too weak. You know you would lose. On a new moon, you would have taken the chance you had to fight me. You're pathetic." He bared his teeth again, hissing a little. "Not even your hellhound wants to take that chance."

Nonetheless, his hold on Shiro suddenly released and he took a step back.  
"On your knees, demon. Beg for my forgiveness if you want to have a 'civil' chat. I knelt to you to beg for forgiveness and you met my civil apology with manipulation and betrayal, turning Lance against me. If you're truly sorry, then you will prove it. Unless you want to die here, on a full moon. I would gladly be sent to hell if I succeeded in ending your life."

There was no mercy in his eyes. Usually they would shine with something, they would reflect pity or sympathy or some morsel of humanity but Shiro had pushed him too far. His words were honest, no lies in his tone. No cowardice in his threat. His eyes, cold and narrowed into a glare, fixed on Shiro.

"Beg, demon."

Shiro's hand was on his neck, holding the new gashes on his throat. Atlas had rushed to his side, sniffling at his hand to try and get a lick at his wounds, but Shiro pushed her away, his dark eyes focused on Lotor. His chest was heaving still, but more with anger than anything else. Shiro's jaw pulsed and his tail flicked behind him as he stared down the angel in front of him, his whole body feeling as though it could snap in two with the tension.

"You wouldn't," he said in a weak little snap, swallowing hard against his sore throat. "You wouldn't even dare."

Despite his quiet little rebuttal, Shiro, grimacing as though the action hurt him physically, sank down to his knees in a pitiful slump. His shoulders fell slack, his back hunched over, his hands fell to his sides. The blood trickled sluggishly from the wounds, painting his neck in long strips of black gore. He kept his scowling face turned to the ground, brow furrowed in embarrassment, lips twisted in a furious sort of snarl.

"Lotor... I-"

A blade was pressed against Shiro's throat. It was silver, burning Shiro's skin. Lotor tipped Shiro's head up with it, watching as the tip of the blade dug into Shiro's chin and drew a drop of inky black blood. He watched as it dribbled down the blade.

"Look at me," he ordered in a snarl. "Your apology is going to be sincere. I want to see remorse in your eyes as you apologise. You say I wouldn't kill you, but you're one wrong word away from having your throat slit. Are you truly going to challenge me when your life is in my hands?" He spoke slowly, aware of the control he had over the situation. He dug the blade in a little more, watching as a steady trickle of blood began to drip down the sword he held. Lotor's patience was running thin and not even Atlas's growling would put him off. "I could save Lance and Keith and god knows who else by doing this. You'd better give me a good reason not to."

Shiro whimpered at the hot feeling of pain that split itself about the sensitive flesh beneath his chin. The blade burned him — it stung with a horrible bite of agony. Shiro clenched his eyes shut, and gave another gentle sound of pain, the breath huffing past his clenched teeth. There was a moment or so where Shiro considered his options, thinking hard about what he was going to let happen. On one hand, Lotor would kill him. Quick and easy. Blade through the throat — he'd suffer for a few moments, and then he'd die. As Shiro thought about it, he wondered if that was the best route to take. He wouldn't have to live through the pains of his scars nor the aching struggle of the sins he carried. He wouldn't have to go to Hell... or... or would he? Where did demons go when they truly died?

What would happen to him?

Another Hell to start over? Or to the same Hell with a wiped memory and a fresh body for new scars? Or would he become nothing? Would he just disappear? Would he lose his conscious thought and succumb to the true black nothingness of death?

What would happen to him?

The fear of that great unknown is what made Shiro snap his eyes open.

"I'm sorry," he said in a sudden burst of fear. Pain laced his words. Terror coated his tone. "I'm sorry. Don't... don't kill me, Lotor. Please. I don't know what happens after... I don't want... I..."

Shiro trailed off, letting a long, trembly breath escape his lips as he tried to collect himself.

"What I did was wrong," he whispered earnestly. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help it... it's just who I am — I can't change it no matter how much I want to!" Shiro swallowed hard against the blade, managing another whimper at the searing burn the silver produced. "I saw Lance was vulnerable and I was vulnerable too... I just did it without thinking. I didn't take his soul. I promise. He's still yours."

Shiro noticed the unwavering glint of Lotor's heavy stare. "I'll leave him alone. I'll only stop by to tell him that Keith is okay and then I'll leave. No more deals. No more trying. I won't go with Keith to go see him. I'll leave when Lance comes over. The only times I'll ever see him are Fridays, and I'll let you watch me and tell me where to go and what to do. Please. Please, just don't kill me. I don't wanna get tortured again... I... I don't want to be nothing either. Please, just have a little more mercy. I won't screw up anymore. I swear!"

A few moments of silence before the blade, thick globs of the ebony blood still clinging to it, was pulled away from his skin. It disappeared from his hold and Lotor let out a low sigh.

"One more mistake," he began in a quiet, threatening tone, "and I'll execute you without mercy. You are not involved with Lance. You will not involve yourself with Lance. Am I making myself clear?"

Shiro nodded quickly, falling back from his knees and onto his behind, gasping to himself — both hands clasped to his throat. "Yes. Yes, sir," he said without thinking, the title slipping from his obedient lips before he could even stop himself. "I won't bother him. I won't."

Lotor let out another quiet noise, content with the response he had gotten, and pulled back. He took a couple of steps away from Shiro, keeping the demon within his line of sight. The words Shiro had said so desperately were still prominent in his mind. If it took a little violence to reach a level of peace, then so be it. Lotor would either be shamed for his poor behaviour or he would be praised for sticking up for himself against a demon. Either way, his blunder with Lance would have him put on thin ice.

He stopped before he left, holding out one hand to Atlas. She huffed a little at him but butted her wet nose against his hand regardless. Lotor offered an idle smile, pressing a kiss to her fur above her nose. Shiro watched the scene with hopelessly angry eyes, the betrayal nearly cracking his heart in two. Then, finally, Lotor turned away. He sent the pathetic demon one last glance.  
"Remember," he said firmly. "I don't care how little your mistake is. The ice beneath your feet is so thin that it's cracking. If you stay away from Lance, you will be safe. If you keep your distance from me and my Lance until he draws his final breath, you will be safe. Your deal gives you two minutes to interact with him a week. You will not tease or mock him. You will give him the updates on Keith, you will take the drawings he offers you without complaint, and you will leave. If you break any of the terms, the ice beneath your feet will shatter. I've been merciful this time but never again."

He sent another little glare at the creature still crumpled on the floor before he faded from view. Atlas sniffed around where he had been stood, waving her paw at the area- but he was gone, so she found nothing. Instead, she plodded over to Shiro and curled up around him with a sigh.

Shiro began to pull away from her, his breath trembly as he huffed out a quiet "go away." She nudged him, though, licking at the wounds on his throat, and Shiro felt his anger seep from him in an instant. Shiro collapsed backwards into his Atlas, wrapping his arm around the hound's thick form. He didn't know he was crying until Altas had licked at the tears on his cheeks, and even then he pretended he didn't even feel it. Shiro just sat there, letting Atlas heal the cuts on his throat and lick the salty tears from his cheeks.

An hour passed. Shiro laid against Atlas, sniffling to himself as he thought bitterly about how disgustingly pitiful he was. Falling to his knees before an angel, fearing a death he should have rather suffered than the embarrassment of begging? How... how incredibly revolting. Shiro leaned away from Atlas and wiped his eyes, huffing to himself.

"Fuck Lotor," Shiro said bitterly. "Fuck me. Fuck... fuck everything!"

The lights flickered weakly. All that emotion inside of him was enough to pull at least some power from the darkness outside. Shiro shook his head, gasping to himself as he wiped away more of his pitiful tears.

"I'll kill him. I'm going to rip his head off!" he snarled weakly, the lights flickering again. "New Moon, Lotor dies. So does Keith. And Lance. And everyone!"

Shiro went on until he tired himself out. Two hours later, Shiro was passed out against his Hellhound, curled up in her large, protective form. The night turned into day, and the full moon passed along. Shiro didn't move — he didn't leave his warehouse. Not for the next two days until Friday dragged by and Shiro felt his chain pull at him with its weak tug.

Lance was sitting on his bed, pulling at the link, attempting to summon the demon. Lotor was stood beside him, arms folded over his chest. He didn't ask why Lance held drawings of Lotor while he waited for Shiro's response, just idly tugging at the link as he tried summoning Shiro again and again. The connection may have been weak, but surely enough persistence would get through to him? Surely it would reach him? He needed Shiro to fulfil the deal or Lance would receive a punishment just as Shiro would, He would go to that damn warehouse and get him himself if he needed to, eventually reaching over and giving a sharp tug directly on the chains.

"Shiro," he hissed out down the connection. The bonds burned his hand but the pain had weakened since they were first formed. "Come."

Shiro shivered on his end, head snapping up on his neck at the sound of Lotor's voice echoing about his mind. He pushed up from Atlas, wobbling on his feet as he stood. Shiro had been asleep for nearly two days — his body was tired and groggy. His outfit had not changed since his last meeting with Lance, his collar spotted and speckled with dried spots of his black blood. Shiro pretended he didn't care as he weakly gathered up the strength to follow the tugging. In a moment or so, the dark, dank atmosphere of the warehouse shifted away, and the world around Shiro brightened as he appeared in Lance's bedroom.

He snapped his eyes closed, reaching hand hands up to his eyes to try and block out the sudden sting of sunlight. Shiro fluttered opens his eyes, wincing as he peered around the room. Lance and Lotor stood side by side in front of the window, Lotor's hand wrapped around Lance's chain, his eyes dark and piercing as he stared at the newly materialized demon. Shiro swallowed hard, squirming under Lotor's glare. He took a step back, gazing down into the floor.

"Hello, boys," he said tiredly, his voice barely even a croak. Shiro cleared his throat, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. "Long time no see? I don't know. Forgot it was even Friday... let's just get this over with." Lance approached, holding out the drawing.

"There," he said sternly. "How is Keith? Is he recovering and taking his meds? Has he been healing well? Why hasn't he been replying to my messages?" he began asking, the flurry of questions hardly stopping. He'd had many questions over the few days. Keith had stopped talking to him entirely- no longer answering or accepting his calls, no longer opening the door to him. It was worrying, nauseating, and Lance needed to know why. "If you're going to kill him, I want to be told two days in advance! I don't want him to suddenly die without knowing!"

Lotor just watched, keeping his narrowed gaze fixed on Shiro, full of malice and spite as he waited for his reaction. Vile thing. He needed to supervise and would do so every single visit- just to stop Shiro from doing anything foolish that could get him killed. Or perhaps looking for an excuse to kill him.

Either way, he wasn't going to stop. He was going to watch every little movement and listen to every little word for one indicator that Shiro didn't plan on honouring their 'agreement'.

Shiro went tense as he listened, eyes growing wide, face going a little pale. Keith. Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.

He gave a soft sigh, taking the drawings from Lance. Shiro nodded slowly, eyes turned off to the side. "Alright. Two days in advance. Got it." Shiro's words were fast and punchy. He nodded his head, thinking hard about what he was going to say or what he was going to do next.

"I... well... about that," he said, swallowing hard. "Haven't, uh, checked up on Keith for awhile. Just kinda laid down low for the past few days. Mind if I pop off and go check up on him real quick?"

"Go," Lotor hissed. "You have thirty seconds from when you return to fill Lance in." He took a step back, releasing the chains and allowing Shiro to leave. Lance just tried to imitate Lotor's glare, though he was nowhere near as intimidating. He wasn't intimidating at all, in fact. Lotor brought the human close, sighing a little as he watched Shiro disappear from the room. He waited until every last trace of Shiro's energy had faded before he moved away from Lance- who just settled on the bed. He wanted to ask Lotor a number of things about Shiro but kept his mouth shut. They hadn't argued in the last two days and he didn't want to ruin that. Not again.

Shiro was only gone for about thirty-seven seconds — he had popped by Keith's house, gave him and his aura a good once-over or so, and then appeared back, feeling a little dizzy by the time he had materialized in Lance's colorful little bedroom. Shiro stumbled backwards, arms out at his sides doing cartoonish sorts of pinwheels, his head feeling light at the sudden over-exertion of magic. He set a hand on Lance's desk to sturdy himself, dragged his tired stare upwards to peer into the faces of the expectant human and the watchful angel. Shiro gave a deep sigh, reaching his hand up to rub his splitting temple.

"Keith's alright," he mumbled quietly, sighing. Shiro looked to the ground, kicking at the floor with the toe of his shoe. "He hasn't been taking his meds because he's a stupid little shit but he's doing better. Not as pale. Hasn't had me on his back for two days so that probably helped."

Shiro reached his hands up to rub his shoulders, his brow furrowed and his lips curled in a frown. "Is that all? I think I'm gonna piss off now," he muttered glumly.

"Yeah," Lance muttered. "I'm going to head over. Thanks," he said as he began gathering his bag and pulling on a coat, already preparing to go and check on Lance. Lotor frowned, approaching Shiro before he could leave and letting his hand hover over Shiro's shoulder. He didn't know if he was okay with being touched so Lotor didn't let his hand brush against skin.

"You're dizzy," he said softly. "Would you like some help getting back home?" Shiro's poor condition was something to be worried about. He may not be too familiar with demons, but he'd known Shiro for months and never quite seen him get to this state. "And don't tell me that you're fine because I can see clearly that you aren't."

Shiro nearly flinched away, his muscles tensing up at Lotor's sudden closeness. He took a step backwards, bumping into the desk and causing it to rattle behind him. Shiro grimaced at the pain that shot up his back at the impact, and then grit his teeth a little at the fact it had been so easy to hurt himself. Two days out of commission after a Full Moon wasn't exactly a good idea... he needed sustenance in the form of dark energy -- something to recharge his weary system. That or blood to drink. With Keith too weak and Lance out of the question, Shiro didn't exactly have too many options for that particular choice... unless he was to stroll into town and steal a bite from some unlucky pedestrian.

Nah. He was too tired. At his fucking state, the human might have even been able to fight him off.

"I don't want your help," Shiro muttered weakly, looking away. He tried to push up from the desk, but his hand slipped and his knees wobbled, and he found himself unable to stand upright. Shiro pretended he didn't notice. "I'm just a little low on magic. I'll be fine by nightfall. It's supposed to be cloudy tonight... a good night for recharging."

"You don't want my help, I understand that, but you need it." Lotor kept his eyes on him, noticing how his body trembled. "Just take my hand and I'll take you back home. It'll be a few seconds at the most, then I'll leave you with Atlas to do as you please and recharge as much as you need to."

He studied Shiro a moment, watching him open his mouth to argue and refuse. He could already tell that Shiro wouldn't accept so he simply latched one arm around the demon, slinging Shiro's arm around his neck and beginning to support his weight. Shiro tried to pull away, but his body went slack against the strong angel who supported him, able to do nothing but burst into uncomfortable shivers at Lotor's touch. His eyes stayed on the ground, cheeks flaming weakly as he let Lotor carry the majority of his weight. Lotor called a brief 'I'll return shortly' to Lance before disappearing from his room. He knew how to get to Shiro's warehouse easily by now, so he was there within a few seconds, standing in Shiro's room by his shitty bed. He released him, dropping him onto the blanket and moving back.

"There," he muttered. "That will be all. I'm trusting that you're too exhausted to interrupt Lance's visit to Keith, so I won't interrupt either."

He took a few paces back, sighing a little as he ran his fingers through his hair. It was pulled back into a loose ponytail today, slick and smooth. A few loose strands fell into his face, of course including the signature strand slightly covering his left eye. "Rest easy."

Shiro, groaning, tried to push up from his mattress, but felt his weakened limbs give out beneath him and simply slumped back down. He rolled over onto his back breathing heavily as he lifted his head up to try and get a glimpse of Lotor before the angel would disappear. "Wait," he whimpered out, slowly trying to get himself into a sort of half-slouched sit. Shiro managed to appear not as pathetic, leaning back on his elbows as he watched Lotor with his own tired, half lidded eyes, head lolling on his neck. "Why do you keep doing this?"

When the question was met with a confused silence, Shiro closed his eyes, grit his teeth, and tried to start again. "Why do you keep... helping me? Or... or at least why do you keep trying to help me?" his voice was quiet and pained. Vulnerable, as he figured Lotor would put it. A weak anger flashed through his body, but there wasn't enough magic to entertain the feeling. "All I am is just some broken soul who's trying to save his own ass. Why do you care? After going behind your back and... and all this other demon shit... why not just let me use up all of my magic and pass out? Why not tell Keith how pathetic I am? Why even try to help cool me down? I'm just... I'm just a bug to you. Why do you care?"

His voice, though soft and panted, had grown angry and bitter, the rage inside of him presenting itself even from his worn system. The lights barely flickered at his last word -- but it was enough magic for Shiro to notice with the toll it took on his body. He slumped backwards with a soft sort of pant, closing his eyes. Oh, how he hoped the forecast was right. He'd need the world to be at its darkest to regain all of his energy if he kept getting angry like that.

Lotor whistled, summoning Atlas- who came dashing over. He sent the hound into bed with Shiro, watching as she took up all of the bed that Shiro wasn't already taking up. He turned to look at Shiro, studying the genuine confusion reflected on his features.

"Because you are more than your actions," he said softly. "You've spent the last... however long- three thousand years? Believing that you're evil, you're cruel, that that's all you'll ever be. That you should only care about yourself because everyone else wants you to fall. You build yourself up on the bodies of the people you make deals with because that's all that you have been trained to do. If I were to judge you for how've been conditioned to think, I would only know you as a demon. I would only know you for someone who steals souls, ends lives, saves himself over everyone else." He took a few steps back- before Atlas let out a low huff and he settled beside her. He began petting her, scratching behind her ears.

He spoke honestly. The only lie he had told was about whether or not Shiro had cried, and even then it had been a white lie to benefit Shiro in the long term. "When I was alive, my father was a tyrant. He was a vile man who stole and slaughtered and executed anyone who argued with him. I spoke up against him frequently and while I wasn't treated as poorly as the citizens who opposed him, I would go days without food. I would be locked away in my room, I would be beaten or degraded. All too often, I would engage with people who would turn my away because my father was a monster. I would try to offer help to people who would refuse for fear of what I could do to them with the power my father had. People judged me for my father, for how I was raised, not for who I was."

He fell quiet for a few moments, closing his eyes a little. Atlas nudged his chest with her nose, prompting him to continue.

"I refused to treat others the same way. My father had influenced other people's opinions of me too much. The first time I met someone I truly liked, it took me years for her to get over my father's idealistic version of me. It took her years to see me as myself, not as my father's son. I remember how badly it stung when people compared me to my father. I remember the anger that burned inside my when I heard the whispers about me. I remembered pushing it all back, repressing it. Telling myself not to let my anger get the better of me and become who they thought I was." His eyes opened, flickering to Shiro. "You are not who you are taught to be. You were just unfortunate to end up in hell. You were just unlucky to be taken in by such a hostile choice. You just didn't get a way out. I've already seen who you truly are. Only ever for a few minutes at a time. Only ever long enough to get a brief understanding, but I've seen you."

Slowly, Lotor got to his feet. He glanced at Shiro, smiling softly. "I don't want to intrude anymore than I already have. I'll take my leave now."

Shiro watched him, absolutely dumbstruck. "You remember your past?" he murmured weakly, not completely registering anything else that had come from the story yet. Shiro blinked, shook his head, and then looked away, his brow furrowed and his teeth grit hard behind his frowning lips. "I... But Lotor I went to Hell. That means I did something, right? That means I deserve all my torture. That means... that means in life I could have been just as bad as I am now..."

He didn't like any of that. He didn't like how oh so weak and pathetic he sounded -- how fluidly the words of his own inner fears left his lips. It was Lotor and that fucking power of his, wasn't it? Taking advantage of a drained, weakened Shiro? Shiro closed his eyes and desperately tried to keep himself from getting angry, but the clenching of his jaw and his fists didn't stop the lights from flickering again. Atlas licked at Shiro's face, distracting him from his bitterness for a moment. Willing him to go on, like she had with Lotor.

"What do you mean you've seen me? What... what the fuck does that even mean?"

"You're making too many assumptions," Lotor mumbled. "You were sent to hell because someone decided your actions were bad. Someone who didn't see motive, causes, mental state. I've seen people sent to hell for murder because they killed themselves but it was only registered as murder, not suicide. I've seen people forced to kill others at the expense of their own life or their family but because they murdered someone, they were denied access to heaven. You could have been sent to hell for some measly little crime that you wouldn't consider bad. For pushing someone by accident who ends up getting hurt badly from it. I've heard of criminals who had forced people to commit murder being put in heaven because they didn't do anything themselves. Who you are now is a result of your surroundings and influences. Who you were then could be a criminal who committed multiple severe crimes or an innocent man manipulated into committing one offense."

Shiro listened... and for the first time in a long while, he felt a flicker of hope regarding his past life.

Lotor leant against the wall, feeling Shiro's cold glare fixed on him, unwavering. "When I say I've seen you, I mean that I've seen you without these layers of defense. Without such high walls. You're a demon who fears a second death. Even if I had to threaten you to get that kind of a reaction, it showed me who you truly were. Just as you are doing now by opening up to me. You're showing me who you are without these influences or without the invincibility of this unending power. Someone who isn't as malicious and cruel as he acts." He smiled softly. "Your facade drops."

Shiro's cheeks flushed with a wild blush of deep, deep red. He reached his trembly hands up to his head with the last of his strength, trying to cover up the hot embarrassment that shined presently about his features. "Fuck..." he muttered into his hands. "You're almost making me wish you killed me." There was a second or so of hesitation before Shiro muttered a quick and hasty add on. "That's sarcasm. Please don't do that again."

He peeked at Lotor through his fingers, seeing that smug grin beneath his stupid yet beautiful halo. Shiro blushed a little more, if it was even possible, something other that embarrassment flickering somewhere deep in his chest. "Don't ever mention that, either," he murmured. "Please. And don't mention this. Fuck, this is mortifying. I hate you for being so fucking easy to talk to... it's a God Squad thing, isn't it? Some freaky confession power you all have?" Shiro shook his head a little, sounding bitter but... but feeling much lighter than before. It was probably apparent in his tone... at least he figured it was from Lotor's warm staring.

"God Squad?" Lotor muttered, brows furrowing in confusion. "But no, I don't think it's anything to do with that. Trust me, though, anything you say can and will be kept between us. I have no intent to spread anything that you tell me. After all, you wouldn't speak to me again if I went around telling everyone your secrets."

He stood. Dusting himself off, he decided to leave before anything could develop further. He had promised Lance that he wouldn't be long, after all, and he needed to make sure that he was safe.

"I'll see you in a week," he said softly, summoning his energy and disappearing before Shiro could argue or distract him again. And, as simple as that, he was gone. Atlas let out a quiet whine at the suddenly lacking energy and settled her head on shiro's lap. She let out a huff of air from her nose, looking up at Shiro and silently pleading for pets. He'd not been himself lately and she was happy to see that he had recollected himself a little. Even if it was only because he hated Lotor.

Shiro gave a deep sigh, settling himself entirely into the mattress, letting his arms fall and the rest of his strength seep from his body. His hand settled on Atlas's head, too tired to pet but it seemed just enough for his Hellhound, who gave a warm sort of snuffle at the gesture. Shiro closed his eyes, breathing deeply and steadily... somehow calmed with what Lotor had left him off with. Shiro lifted his forefinger and tapped at Atlas's head to get her attention. He groaned a little before speaking, almost too tired to even let the next little sentence roll off his lips.

"Wake me up when if turns dark," he said, making sure Atlas understood. "I'll get you some food when I'm out tonight. I promise..."

With that little murmur, Shiro drifted off into a comfortable sleep for the next five or so hours.


	9. Sealing His Fate

It was one night until New Moon, and Shiro could feel it.

And it felt amazing.

The night before New Moon, Shiro was no longer that drained, pitiful slug slumped about on his mattress, nearing tears as his prissy little angel preached to him about rainbows and butterflies. No. He was a powerful demon. He was a unstoppable force of dark energy and magic. His movements were crisp and smart. His suits grew more and more dapper each time he whisked from place to place in fast, snappy teleportation. His eyes gleamed and sparkled. The glow of the gold on his tail and his horns and across his synthetic arm all sparkled and gleamed with the intensity of flame. His aura reached the farthest corners of town, overwhelming the tight knit suburbs with the stench of a demon just about ready to go feral. Everyone seemed to look over their shoulders as they walked down sidewalks to go to the movies or the parks. All the plants seemed to sag. All the birds ceased their singing in the mornings, replaced with the chittle of beetles and the cawing of crows. Dogs barked and howled as the sun sank down low. Shades were drawn and discomfort was thick as the sun stretched its final colors across the sky. Everywhere around the country, demons would be readying themselves to wreak perfect havoc upon the poor fucking souls that lived about their dwelling.

But... Shiro didn't quite know what he was going to do to his own little town.

A few weeks ago, he did. He knew he was going to bully Lotor out of it. He knew he was finally going to take Keith's soul and stuff it down into Hell, and that he was going to find a way to shove Lance down there with him. He knew he was going to take Atlas for a dinner. He was going to let her set free her own giddy little chaos in a hospital or something like that -- somewhere she could collect the lives of the dying and eat it all up like puppy chow. Shiro was going to make that town his bitch -- everyone in it too. Even fucking Lotor.

Shiro didn't feel too sure about it though, as he sat on the roof of Keith's house, watching the dark sky of Waning Crescent phase.

Keith, Lance, and Lotor were all somewhere below him, the humans chatting about like fools in the living room while their perfect little angel watched over them. Shiro didn't know why Lotor showed, but his presence along with Lance's meant he had to scram. Even if he was more than powerful enough to stand up to him, he couldn't risk the chance of losing his temper and snapping. There was no doubt he would snap the night of the New Moon -- oh, he'd just be too overwhelmed with the power to contain himself -- but the Waning Crescent wasn't too much to handle. Just a little dangerous.

Shiro heard Keith chuckle below him with his sensitive ears, and Shiro rolled his eyes. The boy had been doing so much better. Every past two check ups with Lance brought nothing but good news. Keith was taking his meds. Keith had gone for another check up. Keith wasn't slouching. Keith was smiling. Keith was cooking. With every ignored summoning of Shiro, Keith called his demon less and less. And with every forgotten interaction, a new shimmer of brightness was added to Keith's hollow eyes. The boy's soul was still surely tied to Hell, but he didn't act like it anymore. No. He acted like a normal person... a recovering person. He had even saved a few ads about therapy groups in his computer, one of them being titled 'Loss of A Family Member.'

As Shiro suspected, Keith's persistence had dwindled. Like everything does.

He just hadn't expected it to be so beneficial.

About Lance... well... Shiro couldn't say the same sort of positive things. He didn't see him that much with Lotor and their agreement, but every Friday Shiro noted with bleak interest the darkness of the boys eyes and the scent of his sins. It was like Keith and lance were switching places almost.

Shiro gave a deep sigh, laying back against the rough singles of the rooftop, simply stargazing. He flicked his wrist, and a martini teleported its way into his hand -- a rather perfect perk of his shift in power. Shiro sipped at it, and then pulled out the olives with his sharp claws, squishing the bitter fruit between his fangs. He licked his lips, and then sipped his drink again -- trying to keep himself calm and thoughtless... hoping he would just have everything figured out before the next night would show.

"Shiro."

The voice came from behind him. Quiet and soft, definitely Lotor's. The low and hollow noise of Lotor's footsteps on the metal roof signalled his approach. "I think that there's something we should discuss." He moved to sit beside Shiro, his gaze fixed on the sky above them. The sky was gorgeous. Clear, so Lotor could point out any constellations he could recognise. But he wasn't here to stargaze, so he decided against running through them. He doubted that Shiro would care as much as he did.

Shiro gave a deep sigh, shoulders sagging. They hadn't spoken since Friday, and even then it was just a nod and an unreciprocated hello. "And what's that?" Shiro muttered, looking off to the sky.

He took in a breath, a little knot of anxiety tugging about his gut. It was an unfamiliar uneasiness but he had his mission and he needed to speak to Shiro about it. Privately.

"Lance is out of my control. He's too far gone. I can't get a word in anymore and my thoughts don't link with his unless I force them to. My connection with him isn't just weak. It's died. It died last night, when he was with Keith, and I felt the power leave my body as if I'd scared it off." There was an unorthodox sadness to Lotor's voice. Just the slightest hint of depression tainting the tone of his words. How pitiful- an angel so easily defeated. Having an angel defeated in the first place was uncommon, but... something about Lotor's sadness in particular was different.

"I can't save him. Months and months of effort and with each passing day he would slip further from my grasp like sand through my fingers. I suppose it was only a matter of time before it happened, I just can't be sure of what I did to inspire such a spiral. He was balanced between worlds, so easily susceptible to one of the other. I guided him to the path of light but he strayed no matter how I tried to pull him back. Keith, on the other hand... he's doing the opposite. You can feel it, can't you? The darkness that surrounds him- it's not as strong anymore. It's no longer overpowering. He's reaching the path of light. Just as he has tainted Lance with his darkness, Lance has filled him with light. I want to save Keith. Even if I can no longer save Lance. I want to save Keith."

Finally, Lotor turned his gaze to Shiro, studying his expression and noting how beautifully the stars were reflected in Shiro's eyes. "You've fed off of him for years, poisoning him and destroying him and now he is building himself back up. Let me continue that. Let me take over and give him back to the path of light. Our deal is off. Lance is no longer mine so I can no longer make agreements in his place. I understand that this isn't something that usually happens, but I want to save them. The shame I feel for losing my first assignment to Hell- it's agony. I know that when I return home, I'll be met with the same shame but from others. If I can't save Lance, please allow me to save Keith." His voice was pleading now. Desperate. So, so desperate. How had an angel so powerful been reduced to this so easily? What a delectable sight.

"I want to make a deal."

Shiro just stared into the sky. He could feel the desperation in his voice. He could sense the undeniable sense of pure defeat wafting about him. Shiro knew where the conversation was leading the moment Lotor said he had lost Lance... but it was nearly euphoric hearing Lotor say those last six absolutely delicious words out loud. Shiro almost felt like fucking moaning at the sound of them.

But he kept his cool. He bit off his excitement and he relaxed his suddenly excited muscles. Shiro just let his brow raise a bit on his head, eyes still watching the stars above him in an almost curious fashion. The sounds of beetles filled the air. To bats flapped their giddy way somewhere nearby, their wings flapping mightily as they chased after moths and night bugs. Shiro let Lotor's words sink into the white noise of such a pleasurable night, draining the rest of his martini and then whisking the glass away to where ever it had come from. He licked the alcohol from his lips, dragging his tongue over his fangs as he let Lotor's anticipation build and build.

I want to make a deal.

"Then why don't you beg for it?"

Shiro's voice was smart. It was calmer, easier as it drifted off into the night. He could feel Lotor tense beside him, the shift in the angel's aura making him smile... but just slightly. Shiro, slowly as to not convey his own eagerness, pushed up from his comfortable spot among the shingles, easing himself into a sitting position. He turned his head to look into Lotor's eyes, looking almost bored as he cocked his head. Shiro was dressed in a slick black suit with white threads and a lavender kerchief in his breast pocket. His hair was combed and his horns, claws, and arm had all been polished. Shiro's eyes were accented with makeup, his cheekbones glittering with an almost magical highlight. Of course, he hadn't done any of that himself, oh no. His magic had just done it for him -- the excess power making him positively scrumptious to the eye. Shiro felt the appearance to be a powermove as he shifted to his feet, pushing himself to a stand over the watchful Lotor.

"Tables have turned again, huh?" he asked quietly in a bored sort of muse. "Entertain me with this deal why don't you? Why should I give up the human I have been working with for years just because you want him all of a sudden? Why should I risk getting in troubles with my superior for wasting my time? What am I going to get in return? Please, do tell but... tell me on your knees. Tell me with your hands clasped together in pleading. Tell me like your life depends on it because if you manage to piss me off I can surely say that it does." 

 

Shiro licked his lips again, and cocked his head.

"Beg for me, angel."

Lotor watched him for a few moments. He wasn't going to argue and put Keith's life and future in jeopardy. Instead, obediently, he knelt. He got to one knee before the demon as he had done last time and fixed his gaze onto the floor. The sickly humiliation crept up and spread heat like fire across his cheeks, painting them a dark red, but he couldn't risk backing out. After all, if Shiro decided to end Keith's life, he could easily do so. He could break his deal with Lance by not telling him and get only a slap on the wrist compared to his other torture. So he begged.

"Shiro, please, I need this. Lance slipped out of my grasp, I want to save someone. Even if I can't save them both, I want to save one of them. Please, Shiro, there must be some mercy in your system that doesn't want Keith suffering this fate worse than death itself. He's just a kid who lost his mom. He was scared and vulnerable but he's so much more now. You already have your hold on Lance and... and he'll submit to you. I want Keith. I want to save Keith if Lance is beyond redemption."

His hands were shaking and he curled them into fists to mask it. How quickly their relationship went back and forth. How suddenly Lotor had flickered between begging and ordering to beg... it was humiliating. It made him shudder and whimper. It stirred feelings of embarrassment he hadn't known for so long. He wanted this. He wanted it badly enough to risk his reputation and his spot in heaven for a deal just to save this child.

"I need this. I'm desperate, Shiro. Angels no longer accept me after my mistake with Lance. They mock me and talk of my failure. I'd do what it takes to resurrect this situation. That is why I'm offering my soul to you in place of Keith's. Give him his chance to go to heaven and I will submit to you the very thing that defines me. I will let you summon me whenever you demand. I will let you use my soul however you wish. I will let you feed from my energy or use my powers in whatever way you deem fitting. Please, Shiro. Just release Keith's soul and give him a second chance."

And it just got more and more appetising with the more he said. An angel willing to sacrifice his soul in place for a humans? A soul worth so much, teeming with raw energy- especially from a creature with marks of the chosen? What a delectable meal, being placed down before Shiro. Tempting him with every little promise added on. Of course, they were all things that typically accompanied a soul- but to hear an angel swear to fulfil the duties and to submit himself so willing to all conditions...

It was a perfect offer. Who could possibly say no?

Shiro watched Lotor carefully, glad the angel was looking down the moment the promise of his soul slipped through his lips. Lotor couldn't see the obvious rush of excitement that overwhelmed Shiro at the offer -- the widening of his eyes and his smile, the giddy tension that rose his shoulders and squeezed his hands into fists. An angel's soul was worth a thousand human souls -- maybe more depending on how virtuous and pure the angel was. It was incredibly rare for a demon to trick an angel into submitting to the powers of Hell -- it maybe only happened once or twice in the entire history of life itself. The idea nearly made Shiro's mouth water... the power, the bragging rights, the praise! Oh he'd be praised so mightily by the underworld and her servants. Shiro could already taste the victory on his tongue -- he could already imagine the look of Sendak, his torturer for centuries upon centuries, when he would stroll into Hell with a pretty angel on a leash of hot chains.

On top of all of that, Keith wouldn't be able to bully him into dealing anymore. And on top of that, maybe Lance would be willing to strike another deal -- one costing his soul. And even on top of all of that, Shiro was going to be able to harbor Lotor as his personal servant until he'd bring him down to serve his eternal sentence. It was an irresistible agreement.

But Shiro knew Lotor could beg a little better than that... he could delay the inevitable for just a few moments more, if he could see that delicious look in Lotor's eyes.

Shiro reached down with his clawed, beetle black hand, taking Lotor's chin in his grip and tipping his head up from its embarrassed position. They locked their eyes, and Shiro pressed down with the claw of his thumb, instantly drawing drops of shimmering blood from Lotor's clean, perfect skin as he split it open. He nearly threw back his head and laughed at the recognition that crossed Lotor's features at the painful little action -- the angel knew what payback felt like -- but Shiro stayed firm. The blood trickled down from Lotor's chin and slipped down his bobbing throat all the way to the collar of his dress shirt. Shiro smelled it with his keen nose -- nearly shuddering at its scent. He frowned gently, though, trying hard to suppress his growing want for both Lotor's delectable deal and his perfect smelling blood. The only thing he couldn't hide was the flicking of his tail behind him, and the cat-like purr that rumbled along with his words as he spoke again.

"One more time for me, darling," Shiro said, leaning a little closer. "You sound so pretty when you say please. I bet you'll look even prettier..."

"Shiro," he said softly, shyly glancing away before meeting the demon's eyes. "Please. I'm offering my soul to you in exchange for Keith's safe passage to the heavens. I'll submit myself to you fully. Please." He needed some kind of a victory. He needed to safely guide at least one soul. Keith could be saved. He was so close to breaking those bonds and Lotor knew that offering anything else to Shiro wouldn't be met with anything but a snide refusal. "Please." The final desperate plea fell from his lips, nothing but neediness shining in his eyes. 

 

He was offering everything. He was offering essentially one thousand souls in exchange for just one human life. He was aware of everything- the consequences, the potential things he could be forced into doing for nothing but Shiro's amusement. He was aware of the consequences it could have on where he sat in heaven. He was aware of how badly he could be treated, how easily he could be rejected. How the wings could be torn from his back and pinned to the wall as an ornament. How the blood in his veins could be dealt out like a little drug. A temporary experience of heaven.

He was aware of every potential consequence. He was aware of each and every subsequent action and the harm it could inflict. And yet, he was willing. From the memories he had of his life, he had endured torture beyond belief from those he was supposed to call family. If he had dealt with it once then, he could deal with it again now.

 

"Please. Accept my deal. Kiss me if that's what it takes. Poison my being with your lips and take my soul for your own power. Just allow Keith free passage from the deals he struck."

Shiro watched him, unable to mask the smile any longer. "Alright," he said simply, letting go of Lotor's chin and flicking his claws free of the blood. Shiro sank down to meet level with Lotor, their gazes locked and locked firmly. "If you say it like that then... who am I to refuse?" Shiro leaned in closer, just until their noses barely touched. Shiro could feel the buzz of Lotor's magic -- taste it on his tongue as he pressed closer. The warmth of the halo beat down upon him but Shiro couldn't even notice, no, not with his focus so intently obligated to the beautiful display before him.

"Only one problem," he said in a seductive sort of drawl, dragging his tongue over the tips of his teeth and fangs. "You're the one who has to kiss me. Just the rules, baby." Shiro moved even closer, hovering at an impossibly small distance before Lotor, their lips just mere centimeters apart. "Go on, honey. I won't bite... maybe I won't bite. Depends."

Lotor's helpless gaze met Shiro's and his breath trembled a little. He couldn't back down, he didn't want to back down. It was foolish to make a deal with a demon- especially one as powerful as Shiro- but nonetheless he leant forward and pressed their lips together in an impatient and hurried kiss.It was short- too brief for Lotor to note the warmth of Shiro's lips against his own or how vile it tasted to mingle with a demon. All he knew was that after a few seconds, the deal had been done.

A scream tore from his throat. The searing hot chains wrapped around his heart, enveloping it and causing it to blister in response to such harsh heat. His back arched and he threw his head back as the animalistic noise burst from his throat. The agony was blinding, tears spilling down his cheeks. The mark on the left side of his face was poisoned with an inky black colour. He could feel the tight chains around his heart, bursting from his chest and connecting to a small cuff around Shiro's wrist. Such a small bond to Shiro, yet it was everything for Lotor.

By the time the pain had faded, his throat was raw and bleeding. He was trembling, paler than usual and seeming so much weaker than he had been before. He was bound to a demon, his power drained as it tried to smother the pain before it could have such a devastating effect on him again.

Tears still rolled down his cheeks. He felt so weak. So very exhausted, only barely able to keep himself upright. He wanted to say something, to tell Shiro that it had worked, just to say something, but blood trickled from between his lips whenever he opened his mouth so he decided against it. Instead, he just kept his lips clamped shut.

Shiro stood up quickly, his eyes wide as he looked down at the bloody angel trembling at his feet. "Lotor!" The name left him before he even felt it coming. Shiro fell back down to his knees shuffling up beside Lotor so he could hold him up by the shoulders, brow furrowed as he looked the pained creature up and down. "What the fuck? Are you alright? What happened?"

The chain on his wrist was light -- he could barely feel it tug against his wrist whenever Lotor would move away. It was light but... my, how it was powerful. Shiro could feel the magic and the power coursing through him at the contact of their bond, crawling up his arms by his bloodstream and simply infecting him with its addicting sensation. Shiro grit his teeth and tried to ignore the shuddering of his own body as he tried to keep Lotor steady -- he could already tell that the slack postured slump Lotor was sporting wasn't exactly such a safe state on such a sloped rooftop. He kept a firm grasp on Lotor's coat so he wouldn't slip away and fall.

"Don't tell me you're not allowed to deal with demons or something," Shiro said fretfully, shaking him a little. He gave a nervous laugh. "Come on, Lotor. Buddy. Talk to me. Are you alright?"

Managing to get his arms underneath him to support himself, Lotor gave a small nod. He coughed, covering his mouth with one hand as thick globs of blood emptied into his palm. It was a marble pattern. The soft, shimmering almost iridescent blood of an angel accompanying the thick black globs of inky blood that Shiro had somehow managed to infuse into Lotor's system with nothing but a simple kiss. Lotor clutched his stomach with his other hand and began coughing again, choking on the blood that ended up spilling between his fingers and staining his white clothes. His vision was blurring, doubled, but still he nodded to say that he was alright.

"Cross-race deals are banned," he managed to wheeze out. "I assumed it was to prevent mingling between angels and demons- not-" he coughed again, a thick glob of black blood landing in his hand. It felt like jelly and stained Lotor's palms a vile shade of black. "Not for an angel's health."

He had stopped heaving his heavy, uneven breaths a few minutes later. His system seemed to have settled and although it was still very weak compared to usual- he was better. He could see with only the slightest edges of blurriness around his vision.

"I'll only need an hour's rest at the most, then I'm sure I'll be myself again." He tried to get to his feet before slumping back, moving his hands to his shirt and unbuttoning it. He looked to where the chains were, seeing the flesh raw and red, split open as if the chains had torn through his skin to latch onto Shiro. It still stung, the binds so hot that they were glowing white. And Lotor hadn't even noticed the large crack down the middle of his halo yet, separating it into two.

Shiro noticed it. He noticed everything... he noticed how the chains seemed to grow hotter and hotter the closer they got to Lotor, the amber red of his own cuff nothing compared to the blistering white that pierced into Lotor's chest. He noticed how pale and waxy Lotor's normally lush and healthy complexion had become. He noticed the drooly silver blood that slipped from Lotor's lips, along with strands of gunky black that fell in clumps and spread about Lotor's trembling fingers. He noticed the strange coloring of Lotor's left mark, and then the soft, yellowish tint that Shiro hoped he could blame on the lighting.

He noticed all of those ghastly sorts of appearances that seemed to present themselves just one after the other, feeling a soft cringe twist at his features upon seeing just how detrimental his magic had been in crossing paths with Lotor's... but Shiro also noticed the defined curvature of Lotor's abdomen when he trailed his eyes down a little further. His chest was growing slick with the blood that dribbled down his chin and neck, smeared by Lotor's own hands as they absently tried to tend to the raw wound beneath the chains. Shiro had to flick his eyes away for a moment, feeling a strange heat in his cheeks all the way down to his shoulders. It took a few seconds to contain himself -- a demon's lust is more powerful than most, of course, with all the sin -- but when he did he turned back quickly, features stern.

"Alright then," he said, lifting up one of Lotor's arms and wrapping it over his own shoulder. Shiro paused to let the pain of the action pass before even attempting to do anything else, watching Lotor writhe beside with curious concern from the corner of his eyes. Wherever their bare skin touched there was a buzz -- a buzz Shiro had to consciously ignore as he pushed them both up into a wobbly stand. Lotor seemed to lurch forward, crumpling, but Shiro caught him with his other hand -- a sharp crackle of electricity shooting up to his elbow when his fingers made contact with Lotor's sturdy chest. Shiro squeezed his eyes shut for a second, and then shook his head.

Shiro cleared his throat before speaking. "I'm going to, uh, teleport to the warehouse where you can sleep, alright?" Shiro mumbled, swallowing hard. "You ready for that?" Lotor just nodded, his empty gaze fixing on the floor as he slumped against Shiro. It hurt so badly. His body was still aching and buzzing when he was supported. His head was throbbing, his tongue poisoned with the taste of his own blood, his throat burning, his stomach in knots. He was leaning entirely against Shiro for support, closing his eyes. He was reliant on Shiro, sickly and weak and all kinds of exhausted as he pressed against him.

Shiro nodded, and only took a moment to gather the magic necessary for teleportation. It took nothing to begin moving through realms, the world around them melting away and going fluid until the warehouse appeared about them.

When they finally teleported, and Lotor felt the floor gone from beneath his feet, a whole new wave of nausea overcame him and he had to push back from Shiro to double over, trying not to vomit on himself or the demon. After a moment of recovering, he began to straighten up. Immediately he was nauseated and his legs crumpled, just about collapsing. Oh, how pathetic he felt. So weak and vulnerable and so desperate for even a little help when the one person he was looking to for that... was Shiro? The very same demon who consistently belittled him for offering help and support?

His chances of surviving without such help were similar to that of a snowball in hell.

Shiro slowly collapsed down with him, easing him to his knees so he wouldn't knock them against the concrete flooring. He gave a soft sigh, holding on tighter to Lotor, a bit embarrassed with himself for having trouble supporting such a weak and trembly form. Shiro, mumbling quietly what he was going to do, stood himself up and dragged Lotor over to the mattress, setting him down with a delicate ease upon the squishy, springy thing. Shiro stood up and stumbled back, breath a little heavy as he looked around for some sort of blanket. There was a crumpled pile of old, damp sheets in the corner, but that was about it. When he tried to reach out and summon one with magic, he found his powers fall slack -- his system still a little tired from the two bodied teleportation, which was something he'd never done on his own before. Shiro frowned, reaching a hand up to rub his temple as he thought about it. After a moment or so, he perked up with an idea.

"Atlas!" Shiro called, whistling. After a moment or so, echoing barks filled the warehouse and Atlas stumbled inside, jittery and excited when she noticed her master. She had something in her mouth -- something big and limp and dead. She set it down at Shiro's feet with a dull thump, and Shiro peered down at it, grimacing. It was a deer. A full grown stag, bleeding from large bite marks that gnashed into its stomach and neck all over the floor. "Ugh. Gross. Attie, you know what I said about dead things -- I don't want them unless they're humans."

The Hellhound whined, cocking her head. She nudged the deer forward with her nose, huffing a gust of happy air through her bloodstained maw as she looked at him, tail wagging happily behind her.

Shiro sighed, slumping. "Thank you," he said quietly, closing his eyes. Shiro flicked his wrist, cleaning Atlas of the deer's blood with just wave of his hand -- the blood seeping away from its matted splatter and vanishing. He nodded back to Lotor on the mattress. "We have company. Keep him warm and safe while I go... put your present somewhere nice..."

Atlas, dropping the playful act, just nodded her head and crept towards the bed. Shiro watched as she curled up beside Lotor, encircling herself around his trembling form to try and offer him her own warmth. Too tired to reject it and too unhealthy not to need it, Lotor's arms latched around her neck and he buried her face in his neck. She gave him warmth and comfort, soothing his nerves and helping him settle down. She nudged at him, helping him settle down in a comfortable position until his breathing evened and he was finally unconscious. Healing.

Shiro, satisfied, leaned over to lug the dead, bloody deer in his hands. He would have just whisked the deer away with his magic, but Atlas would notice and feel bad about it, so he just was going to have to act like he was taking it somewhere special like he did with all her not so little presents. Shiro, grumbling to himself about Hellhounds and angels, brought the deer out back into Atlas's burial grounds -- mounds indicating all the other remains of her little presents scattered about the long, stretching field of the back lawn of the warehouse. On his way out, he snatched up a large metal shovel with his free hand. Shiro lugged the deer to the nearest clean spot, and set it down carefully upon the ground.

He began to dig another grave, humming to himself as he worked. Of course, Shiro could have just done it all with magic but... but that wouldn't be respectful to the stag. No. He deserved a proper burial... just like all the squirrels and wolves and other deer and rabbits and whatever the hell else Atlas would kill for him.

Besides, it gave Shiro a chance to focus on something else beside Lotor.


	10. Healing a Stolen Heart

Deep amber sunlight spilled through the gaps in the trees of the forest behind Shiro's warehouse, leaking past the branches and the leaves and the sticks of the woodlands and painting the ground before it in dramatic shadows and fire streaks of dying daylight. The shadows grew taller and taller as the time went on, creeping up the mounds of Atlas's graveyards and up to the cement pathways that surrounded the warehouse. Shadows of chain link fences and yellow or red keep out signs decorated with graffiti joined those of the trees until they were masked with the inevitable darkness of night as the sun sank to low to coat them -- Shiro watched them blink out from his spot on the roof of his warehouse, his stare contemplative as he watched the masterful golds and oranges fade into inky purple as the night began to creep its way across the sky to the horizon. Stars dotted the world above him, just beginning to dimly shine. Street lights flickered on along the suburbs and the town streets. Lights from inside the houses were winked from sight as shades were drawn and windows were locked. Sorrowful howls called forlornly through the night air alongside the thrumming hum of beetles.

The moon was nowhere in sight.

It was the first New Moon in his thousands of years of living that Shiro hadn't been excited. He was on the cusp of unlimited power but he oddly couldn't find any sort of malicious joy in his heart to care. Instead he... he worried. He worried about Lotor, who hadn't woken up yet, and he worried about the New Moon, which was already feeding him enough power to make his fingers twitch, and he worried about his own temper getting the best of him -- something he was already beginning to feel as a problem.

Shiro had a few options. He could leave -- skip town for a few days with Atlas and leave Lotor to tend to himself for a while. He could go wreak havoc on some other poor city or town, ride out his burst of magic and power with one hell of a show. It was the safer option... safer for him and Lotor of course, not for any of those poor townsfolk he'd be messing with. That was if... if Lotor was okay to take care of himself for a while. He was still sleeping -- whimpering and coughing up all sorts of blood and black gunk as he slumbered beside the curious Atlas. Shiro would have no way to tell how well off Lotor would be on his own if he left...

The second option was to stay and try to keep himself under control -- to turn on all the lights he could find in that fucking warehouse of his and just sit somewhere in the corner, trying to stuff all of that overflowing power back into his system. It was dangerous but... it was possible. Lotor would just have to stay away from him if the angel ever woke up -- he'd have to stay away and try everything he could to keep his scent from flicking a switch somewhere in Shiro's primal instincts. The scent of an angel, a demon's natural enemy, was enough to push Shiro into succumbing to his chaotic black magic. If he were to go feral with the vulnerable Lotor so close, he'd likely kill him without even breaking a claw. Lotor would stand no chance against him if Shiro were to be free and predatory...

Which took him to his third option: Shiro could lock himself up somewhere and instruct Lotor to only approach him if it was a hundred and ten percent necessary.

He had chains that would hold him -- chains with binding spells and heavy charms that would keep Shiro's wild, untamed magic at bay. There was a basement in the warehouse, one with slick, wet walls and moldy columns that acted as dangerous foundations for the decrepit building. It wouldn't be too hard to bind himself up -- he'd leave a note for Lotor, and have Atlas take the key up to him too. It was the safest option for Lotor but... he didn't know how much he fancied the plan himself...

Shiro shook his head and sighed, watching the sun sink. It would be fifteen minutes or so until total blackness would overcome the sky, and Shiro would be at his prime. He could already feel the power inside him, creeping under his skin -- making his muscles go tense and writhe, ripple as if with electricity. Energy balled itself in Shiro's gut like a star getting ready to just collapse, everything bunching and pulling together in the base of his stomach, fixing to explode. Shiro's claws tapped in hasty fidgets against the metal rooftop, clicking and clacking at it as he thought about what to do. He cursed himself for waiting until the last minute to decide -- such a predicament should have been handled by then.

He needed help.

Sighing, Shiro closed his eyes and focused on the main room of his warehouse. He teleported there in nearly half a second, the magic whispering about his feet as they floated above solid ground. Shiro twisted around mid air so his belly faced the ceiling and his head hung back on his neck, bangs falling from his forehead to the ground. He faced the mattress with Lotor and Atlas, cockign his upsidedown brow at the smilely Hellhound when she perked her head up to see him. Shiro scrunched up his nose, thinking hard, tail flicking beneath him as he tipped his head back and forth, weighing his options.

Atlas whined and nudged the sleeping Lotor with her nose. Shiro gave a great sigh and nodded along with her.

"Yeah, yeah," he hummed, flipping back around slowly so he floated upright. "I know. He can help me decide."

Shiro let his feet touch the solid ground, settling on his toes and the the balls of his feet and then finally the heels of his boots. He was wearing a lavish sort of suit -- deep black with golden designs embedded into the handsome felt. If his makeup the night before had been pretty, the makeup his magic presented him with just then had been drop dead gorgeous -- artfully angled wings, masterful contour and highlight, shaped brows, and a perfect amount of eyeliner on his waterline to make his gaze dark yet stunning along with those flicks of mascara. My, it would be a shame to just waste it all on locking himself up or sitting in the corner, rocking back and forth like an idiot.

Shiro made his way over to the mattress and crouched down. He watched Lotor for a moment, noting the bloodstains about his chapped lips and his waxy skin. The angel was weak and exhausted, occasionally letting out quiet noises (most often in pain) from when he would move or Atlas would breathe too heavily and it'd put him in a position where the chains would sting. He was fragile and pathetic and god, it would be all too easy to kill him. Too vulnerable to fight back, barely even able to breathe steadily. The deal had too much potential, however, to kill Lotor just yet. No matter how determined Shiro had been after the begging-fiasco.

Shiro gave a deep sigh, and held up both hands -- flicking each wrist. In one hand, a wet washcloth appeared. In the other, a cool water bottle. He set down the water bottle, absently wondering who he could have stolen it from, and reached the towel down to wipe at Lotor's chin. Shiro dragged the washcloth lightly over Lotor's skin, careful not to wake him so the angel couldn't see him and his uncharacteristic gesture. Soon, he had cleaned Lotor up all the way down to his collarbone, stopping there so he wouldn't have to mess with his wound or those still piping hot chains. Shiro then whisked the washcloth away, hearing it land somewhere behind him with a comical splat, reaching down with a free hand to touch at Lotor's shoulders.

"Lotor? Wake up" Shiro muttered quietly, shaking him a little. When Lotor didn't respond, Shiro moved his hand up to Lotor's face. He cupped his cheek in his hand, and then jostled it a little bit, drawing back when he saw the way it made Lotor stir. "Hey, angel-face! Wakey-wakey eggs and bakey, huh? C'mon. This is important." Shiro prodded at his shoulder again. "Wake up, buddy. We've got a problem."

Slowly, Lotor's eyes fluttered open. His head was throbbing and aching, pulsing like it had its own heartbeat. A low groan slid past his dry lips, his tongue and throat feeling like sandpaper. He could still feel the water on his skin from where Shiro had wiped him clean. He couldn't register how long he had been unconscious.  
"Shiro...?" he asked, attempting to sit up but he could barely move his arms. Even when he did, they refused to support his weight and he would just slump back down on Atlas.

His eyelids felt heavy. Sleep was tempting. He felt as if he'd only slept for a matter of minutes. So much for that 'hour' of sleep he promised was all that he had needed. Shiro's magic must have had more of an impact than he had realised. The skin around the bites still felt red and raw, and one wrong move would send a sudden flash of pain through his body. He would hiss in pain and whimper before falling silent again, too exhausted to offer any other reaction.

Finally, his eyes fixed on the demon in front of him, barely able to recognise him for a few moments- his vision too blurry and Shiro's makeup being too different- before he was suddenly seeing the demon clearly, able to register the face. And, glancing around a little, he must have been in the warehouse. He could vaguely recall being teleported from that roof and seeing the same shabby grey walls before he collapsed. The breathing from the warmth beside him signalled that he had slept with Atlas. Finally, the words processed in his brain.

"Shiro... What- what is it?" He asked with a frown and furrowed brows, attempting to sit up on his own one last time. His arm buckled under his weight and Atlas turned her head, biting down on the back of his collar and pulling him up like a ragdoll to set him in a sitting position. She let her head rest against him to keep him from slumping one way or the other, sniffing at him. "Problem...? What... what problem?"

Shiro frowned gently at Lotor's weak display... oh there was no way he'd be able to take care of himself for two days. Even if Shiro left Atlas at home, he could tell Lotor's health was too run down to be left without a more stable support. Sighing, Shiro rolled his eyes and offered Lotor the water bottle, unscrewing the cap as he held it out.

"It's New Moon," Shiro said quietly when Lotor had taken the bottle in his trembly hands. He'd been sitting on his haunches, early level with Lotor's eyes as he man was bolstered up by the obedient Hellhound. "It'll be dark in just about ten minutes. Which means I'll be overflowing with dark magic... it's likely I'll go feral. Do you know what that means?"

He gave a long sigh at Lotor's silence, and slumped back into a sit, slouching as he set his hands behind his back to prop himself up. Shiro rolled his eyes again. "It means my anger will take control of me. I'll be too overwhelmed with dark magic and I'll just... uh... Hulk out, you know?"

"What?" Lotor asked, his face mirroring one of confusion. Evidently living in heaven didn't give much room for learning about Marvel characters. He could figure it out from context, but that didn't make it a little unusual of a phrase to be used. "New moon..." he mumbled to himself, putting his head in his hands a little and trying to relax a little or to at least get in a more comfortable position. "You'll be dangerous... I... I'm going to be a target. Shit," he murmured, the curse just falling past his lips without him even noticing. How unusual- angel's weren't allowed to cuss. They shouldn't have been able to even consider it, much less voicing it.

Surely it was just Shiro's influence? It could easily be brushed off as Shiro having a poor influence, but it was still a little unusual.

Shiro's eyes widened at the swear word, a soft flicker of a smile dancing across his concerned features before they settled back down into a look of thoughtfulness. "Yeah," he said, nodding. "I'd kill you in a heartbeat. Especially with you so out of it like this..." Shiro trailed off, looking off to the side -- suddenly aware of how worried his voice had gotten. "I'd be uncontrollable. I don't want to lose the angel servent I just won over, you know?"

He pushed up onto his haunches again, tapping his fingers on the stone floor. It was getting darker and darker -- Shiro didn't even have to look outside to know. He could feel the energy stirring in his system. "It won't be too long before I'm at maximum power -- and then the New Moon will keep feeding me more and more power until I'm just overflowing with the blackest magic known to the universe," Shiro explained gruffly. "It's nearly impossible to control. I've never tried it before, but I know it feels like holding back a fucking orgasm -- the best orgasm anyone could have. I've also been told it hurts to hold yourself back. Also been told it's like walking on a tightrope. It might depend on the demon but... it might be all three. I can't promise I'll be able to control myself... so we... we've got some options."

Shiro waited until Lotor offered him a nod to continue. It was slow and wary but it was there. He held up one finger. "Option one: I skip town for a few days," the demon said in a blunt sort of tone. "Go someplace else I can raise Hell. Atlas would most likely have to come with me -- when I go feral, she tends to go feral too. Which means you'll be... you'll be all alone. No help. At all. For two or three days..." Shiro trailed off, thinking. He shook his head and continued.

"Option two." Shiro held out a second finger. "I stay. Go sit in some corner all alone and rock myself back and forth to try and contain it until morning. I'd have to do the same the next two nights, too probably just to make sure. You'd be alone for the night time but I figured you could just sleep or something. This is probably the most dangerous option... but I like it a little better than option three..."

The demon sighed and held up a third and final finger. "I lock myself up in the basement. I have chains that can hold me. I'll leave the keys with you and send Atlas away... you can come unlock me in the mornings and I'll take care of you the best I can before going back down. This is probably the safest option for you but... it's going to be fucking torture for me. Might feel even worse than just trying to stuff it back. Being feral and not having anything to do about it fucking blows. At least that's what I've heard... but that being said it's probably our best choice here."

He dropped his hand, and looked at Lotor, brow furrowed and eyes a little rounder. "What do you want me to do?" he asked. "This is your life on the line. I don't want you shifting the blame on me if you wake up in Hell tomorrow so... this is your choice, buddy. Whatever you think is best, man. Use your Godly knowledge or something to pick."

 

Lotor watched him for a few moments. He bit back an idle mocking remark about Shiro letting him choose and instead just decided to answer. "They're all poor options," he murmured to himself, eyes fixing on Shiro's face. The genuine concern- it was so uncharacteristic. Perhaps he just didn't want to risk losing his pet so soon after getting one. Perhaps he was going to savour killing him and didn't want it to happen in a blind rage.

Lotor didn't want to consider the option of Shiro genuinely caring about him.

"Why don't I return home? I might be able to recharge myself quicker above the clouds. If I go there while you... work through the magic, I should be better in a couple of days time." His eyes fixed on the floor. Another soft curse slid past his lips as he moved a heavy hand to his head. His headache hadn't even begun to subside and it was agony. It seemed like a simple solution- provided that he would be able to return home. In his current state, he might be able to fly halfway back before exhaustion would steal him away. A third seemed more likely if he didn't exert himself. "If you could help me," he was quick to add, aware that if Shiro helped him halfway at least, he'd be able to make it the rest of the way. If he got close enough and called out for help, someone else would provide support.

As much as it sickened him to have to rely on others so desperately- he'd rather that than end up a corpse. He couldn't imagine how the humans would react to a literal fallen angel landing at their feet. His body would be able to hold itself together from the fall, but with his weakened soul, his essence wouldn't survive. He'd find out what Shiro was so worried about- what came after the afterlife. Though, the real thing that worried him was what a human would do if they found such a creature. He could almost imagine a taxidermy- though he didn't like to think of it so he pushed the idea of it away.

"If you could help me," he reiterated, "I could get to the heavens. Remain home while I regain my strength."

Shiro looked at him. "Heaven?" he asked in a small voice, cocking his head as he looked at the angel before him. "I..." Shio trailed off, blinking and shaking his head -- trying to rid himself of whatever sort of stupor that had come over him at the mention of Heaven. "Of course. I should have thought of that. You can just go chill out on a fluffy cloud or whatever while I ride out the New Moon. Nice."

He stood up, pushing himself to his feet. "Only problem is I... I'm not allowed to even get close to up there. It's why us demons don't have wings -- I can only float so far," he said, folding his arms over his chest. "But... I think I can still help you. You don't have enough magic to teleport, obviously... and I'm basically overflowing with the stuff." Shiro held out on of his hands, opening up the palm and extending his fingers. "I could try to transfer some of my magic into your body. I don't know how good it would feel but... it would give you more than enough juice to teleport there and back."

Lotor was wary... but he wouldn't make it if he didn't accept. He would die if he didn't accept, so he held his arms out as if to show Shiro that he was accepting. Submitting himself to the dark power to save his life. He closed his eyes after a few moments, his body tense as he waited. He could already feel the energy emitting from Shiro- the vile energy that swarmed him, pulsating and giving him fluctuating power. It was calling for him. He was vulnerable and weak and it sounded so tempting.

He wanted it. He wanted the power it would give him. He could tell himself it was for survival, it was because he was weak, he needed it- but he just wanted the power. Without the energy he usually had... he felt weak. Pathetic. So very helpless, and he wanted to change it. Just as Shiro said- without the power he needed, he could be killed in a second. The power he had had before made it almost impossible to hurt him. To harm him significantly, anyway. Without it, what would he do? He'd recover slowly and painfully, as he was doing right now- or he would die by Shiro's hand. Or he would die falling from the heavens when he tried to return.

His options were limited. Take the power or die.

He let himself submit to the calling. He wanted to take the power.

Shiro smiled, moving forward and leaning down and taking Lotor's hand. He didn't feel the usual buzz from Lotor's touch, but he could tell by the flash of surprise behind Lotor's eyes that the angel felt Shiro's thrum of power. Shiro intertwined their fingers, closing his hand around Lotor's and squeezing tight. His claws pressed into the back of Lotor's hand, but Shiro made sure it wasn't hard enough to draw any sort of blood.

"I've never done this before," Shiro admitted. "It might take a second or so for me to figure it out."

"Take your time," Lotor murmured in a slightly passive-aggressive tone. Again, unusual for an angel but it was surely just Shiro's influence. "If you don't succeed, I won't live to see the consequences anyway."

Shiro gave a soft nod, and then closed his eyes, letting his features relax as he focused everything on that ball of energy that beat like a drum inside of him, tuning the entire world out as he felt the magic consume his conscious for a moment. He thought about turning the tightly condensed star of magic into something more fluid... and the magic hesitantly complied. Shiro then thought about letting the magic flow through his body like blood -- to flush through his veins and muscles... and the magic took the form of his lifeblood. Shiro then, unknowingly letting out a little sound of concentration, focused on pouring the blood through his fingertips so it could rush into the pores of Lotor's own hand... it took a second or so... but then the magic bode to his willing. Shiro felt his body go lax as the magic slipped from his hand and flowed easily into Lotor's. For a moment or so he was stuck in that moment, consciously aware he couldn't move or think as the transference took hold of him. But then that moment passed and Shiro snapped his eyes open with a heavy gasp, wrenching his hand away as he stumbled backwards.

His heart was hammering in his chest. His breath tumbled past his lips in trembly gasps. His knees wobbled a little bit beneath him, but the power of the New Moon instantly refueled their strength. Shiro put both hands on his chest, feeling himself in the present. He didn't know how long he'd been standing there, stuck in the void of his own dark magic -- it might have been seconds... but for a moment or so it felt like years. Shiro shook his head, blinked his eyes, and flicked his gaze up to Lotor.

Lotor was staring at his hands. His nails were black, his fingertips dark like they were covered in charcoal. His eyes were no longer their soft lavender, now a dark violet. When he smiled, feeling his strength had returned, his fangs were sharp and a sickly amusement shined in his eyes. Slowly, he extended his wings, bringing himself to his feet. His feathers wore their usual glorious sheen, but they were now tinted with black around the edges. He glanced at Shiro.

"I'll see you in two days," he said simply as he strode past, soon picking up the pace and running after a few seconds, beaming to himself. This power- this energy- it felt perfect. He stopped dead as soon as he was outside, his wings stretching out either side of him. He had large wings, stretching about twice the length of his arms when fully outstretched. With one glance back at the warehouse so teeming with dark energy, he shot off the floor.

Shior watched him go from the window, eyes wide in fascination before they just about rolled themselves back into his skull. "How fucking extra," he grumbled to Atlas, the hound approaching from behind with a sad whine as she watched her new angel friend shoot off into the clouds. "I told him to teleport. Not take off in an extravagant flight to the heavens. I hate angels..."

It felt so effortless to fly. He could move carelessly through the air without fussing about energy or effort or whatever usually plagued his mind when he worked so hard to use his wings. He soared over the treetops, a sudden urge to do something destructive surging through him but he reminded himself of the energy, the quickly draining power that he had, and he was focused back on getting to heaven and nothing else.

And, within a matter of minutes, he was surpassing the clouds. He shot through them in a glorious show, his hair nought but a little damp when he settled with his feet on the floor. His wings folded up at his back and he turned to face those 'pearly gates'- nothing but a white line drawn against the floor to keep out impure spirits and a single gatekeeper. A large statue, resembling stone in appearance, with glowing blue eyes and a spear in hand. She wore a long gown, elegant and sleek, and had straight hair that fell a little beneath her shoulders. He approached, sending nothing but a glance her way before striding ahead past the barrier.

-Shing!

He stopped dead, the spear buried in the soft clouds beside him. The hilt of the spear was diagonally across his chest- not yet touching him, but threateningly close. It was hotter than his halo was and while angels could touch halos without harm- these spears sizzled and burned and sliced through flesh and bone like butter. He turned his head to look at her again.

What a poorly-humoured joke.

A few steps back and she set the spear back, her empty gaze fixed on the wall opposite her as Lotor knelt before her.

"Great guardian of the heavens," he said softly, his voice low and hinted at with an unfamiliar darkness. He didn't appreciate being the butt of a joke. He didn't accept this kind of treatment. Anger plagued his system and his voice. "Why do you reject me? The humour of this trick is lacking. I seek nothing but safe passage back home, to where I've proved that I belong. I need rest, I am weak. I have exerted myself by spending so long away."

Silence lay heavy in the air for a few long moments. Some angels had spotted this by now and an audience was beginning to grow. Idle whispers stirred. He refused to look at them, keeping his eyes only on the ground. He parted his lips, about to speak again when the Guardian answered him.

"You, Lotor Sincline Daibazaal, are hereby banished from the heavens. Your crimes are consorting with a demon, sacrificing your blessed and holy soul to a demon, and accepting the toxic power of black magic. How do you plea?"

"Guilty."

The low word had escaped him before he had a chance to oppose it. It tasted vile on his tongue and bled past his lips like the inky substance he had been coughing up only days ago. No! He wasn't guilty! His actions were for a good cause! "Guilty!" Innocent! "I'm-" not- "guilty! I did-" not "commit those crimes! I'm-" not- "guilty!" The words wouldn't leave his lips. What kind of magic had been placed on him? What kind of a spell had derived him of his ability to speak? What had he done to warrant such unfair treatment? More people were whispering, harsh and malicious little murmurs. He could pick up the ends of some whispers; 'I knew he was like this-', 'He didn't have a soulmate, you know', '-doesn't belong here', 'Shouldn't have been let in', 'He was the son of Zarkon. You can't expect much from him.'

His helpless gaze fixed on those around him. Their mocking taunts, their harsh jabs at him. Had these been their thoughts all along? Did they truly think he was nothing but his father's son? Did they think that he was the same kind of malicious monster?

"No!" He shouted, his voice desperate and pleading. How humiliating. "No! I'm not my father!" But his words didn't reach them. "Don't compare me to that monster! I loathe him! My father- he-" They couldn't hear him. His words died on his tongue.

The Guardian tipped his head up with the tip of the blade. The metal was like ice, sending a wave of cold through his body.

"Do not worry, Lotor, son of Zarkon," she said in such an uncommonly tender voice- the others turned their attention to her, falling for her words with their hidden malice and blatant disgust. Son of Zarkon. The words made an unfamiliar sickliness turn in his stomach.

"I'm not his son!" he tried to shout, but his parted lips and his open mouth didn't let even a single word escape. Tears filled his eyes, hot and unfamiliar.

"You will return to him soon. He misses you. He embraced the darkness and you proved yourself to be his flesh and blood when you did the same. He will be happy to see you again. I'm sure that you will be glad to find him. Won't you?"  
"I will."

Again, he hadn't spoken willingly. He hadn't wanted the words to leave. He hadn't wanted to say that. 'No! No, I won't! Anything but seeing him again! He'll beat me! He'll starve me and he'll gag me if I speak against him! He'd pull the feathers from my wings one by one if he could!'

But the words didn't get past his lips. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Still, the Guardian spoke to him.

"Do not cry, son of Zarkon. This was never truly your home. You will return to where you deserve to be."

"Please," he said in a barely audible whisper, his breathing uneven and shaking, his black tears spilling down his cheeks. He hadn't realised that his tears were black. He didn't notice how the mark on his face, beneath his left eye, had turned black. It had expanded as if it had dripped down his face. It resembled the marking of that witch, Haggar, who so consistently raised her hands to hit him. Who had given him scar after scar on his body. "Please-" don't do this.

She gave him a sweet smile, though her eyes burned with unmeasurable hatred.  
"Do not fret, dear son of Zarkon. Return to him. We will all wish you a safe journey."

He could feel the support of the clouds under his feet as they disappeared. He could feel how his body ached, how the magic drained. He felt himself slipping, falling- expanding his wings and trying to fly back up. He watched as the clouds covered his entrance. He watched them twist and condense until he could punch the clouds and they would not succumb to the abuse. Until he could swung his fist or slam his body into the clouds without returning above them. He would kick and punch, screaming in frustration as the tears spilled from his eyes. He kicked, thrashed, fighting against the clouds that sealed him out. His mark was burning, the demonic energy inside of him trying to turn him away from the heavens.

His throat burned. His eyes were hot and uncomfortable, and everything was aching so badly. He was on his last little droplets of that energy when- when the clouds parted. Those cold fingers of the Guardian closed around his wrist and she pulled him up, throwing him to the floor in the clouds. He coughed, trembling and panting. Everything ached and burned and his head throbbed as he turned his eyes to her. He had landed on his side, his back exposed to the Guardian. He had begun to push himself up with the hot hilt of the spear dug into his back.

Screaming in pain, he felt as he was pinned down to the once soft fur that hardened under his touch.

"You were right to return," she said in an uncomfortably calm voice. Lifting the blade from his back but replacing it with her foot to keep him in place, he felt her expand one of his wings and lay it on the flood. Tears still rolled down his cheeks and he watched as the angel's stared at him. They made the most of the sight. It wasn't something you witnessed more than once- an undeserving angel being stripped of his pride and honour. Being sent to roam the Earth emptily for the rest of time or to submit himself to hell.

The tip of the spear was turned to face Lotor and he realised too late what had happened. He didn't retract his wing in time, instead letting out an agonised and harrowing scream of agony as the blade- suddenly hotter than the hilt, which had left a small red mark in his spine- pieced his wing. It had hit at the joint, directly in the middle of his wing, and it had severed the bone without issue. The Guardian, expression ever-unchanging, began to drag the blade along Lotor's wing. Slowly she moved it, listening to the tormented scream of the fallen angel as his wing was severed. Sliced in half- though the hot blade didn't cauterise the wound as it would if it harmed anyone else. She allowed it to bleed, watching the vibrant red stain the clouds.

She lifted the piece of severed wing and it caught flames in her hand, withering and dying within a matter of seconds. Lotor lay there helplessly as the floor beneath him began to disappear- teleporting back to the warehouse before he could plummet to earth with no way of saving himself.

Abused, rejected, and no longer welcome in the one home he had sought safety in, Lotor lay crumpled on the ground.

His energy as an angel was no longer a prominent feature. He would no longer naturally be marked as Shiro's enemy. He would no longer naturally be a threat.

With the last piece of demonic energy he could muster, he crawled to a pond to see his reflection.

His halo was shattered, now just stray fragments rarely larger than the nail on his pinky finger. They lingered above his head, forming some feeble shape that resembled the curve of the halo, but they were no longer so warm. Icy cold, and unmoving. He would forever be marked as an angel that failed. The mark beneath his eye was ebony, though it burned with a scarlet hint as it tried to summon his power again; failing. His eyes were black, no longer even shining with a hint of purple. His sclera was golden yellow, and his fangs had sharpened. His tongue was forked, small horns beginning to sprout from his head a little above his ears- now pointed.

His hands had not lost the charcoal affect. Instead, now they were a matted black and poisoned with vile energy. His nails had melted into his fingers, which in turn formed sharp talons. He looked at his face, horror in his eyes as he noticed each and every new detail.

He wasn't an angel any longer. He wasn't even a demon. He was far from human.

He was a monster. Vile and weak; yet with so much potential for power.


	11. Home, Sinful Home

Lotor lay in Shiro's bed.

It was empty now, of course, Shiro and Atlas were out god knows where using their violent powers to unleash all sorts of hell on unsuspecting victims. Lotor didn't care. His eyes drifted absently back to the chains. Unchanged, still enveloping him in a deal that he hadn't considered fully. He'd thought he'd considered all possibilities but evidently... evidently his wing (healed over by now, thanks to Shiro's dark powers) and his halo were giveaways that he hadn't been cautious enough. Remorse bloomed in his chest, Perhaps if he had allowed Keith to suffer, he would have been saved. Consorting with demons alone was not enough for him to lose his halo.

The deal? Perhaps, but it would have been his first severe offence. Accepting the black magic? He was sure that that had been the final blow. It must have been what had kicked him out.

He didn't want to think about it for how sick it made him.

The one home that he thought he had been deserving of... and yet, nobody else had shared his thoughts, insulted and degraded him, celebrated when he was lost. Watched his execution like a play put on for their entertainment.

He lay in Shiro's bed, unaware that his angel's scent was lost. That he no longer had such an aura. Assuming that Shiro would either return as himself or return as a demon and kill him for it.

Death was more dignified than an eternity in hell. Death was more rewarding than seeing his father's face again. Death was more pleasant than looking into the eyes of those assigned to torture him and explaining what had lost him his hard-earned place in heaven.

Death was welcoming. Heaven wasn't. Hell wasn't. Earth wasn't.

Death was salvation, as vile as it was to think of something so poor as if it were a saviour.

His eyes closed and he lay back, one wing folded against his back and the other stretched out. It stretched only as far as his wrist now, bloody and blackened. Disgusting to see and so he refused to look at it. He let out a quiet sigh. As vile as this place was, it accepted him. Shiro accepted him. He may not have any angel's features now, but he had an angel's soul until he became a demon. He had an angels soul. If he didn't, the bonds would have shattered. He promised an angel's soul, so that was what he was giving.

Shiro had been having one hell of a time, so to speak.

The second he watched Lotor disappear into the sky, his expected excitement suddenly bursted about his system, making him just about giddy for the darkness of the night. He instantly turned to Atlas, told her to get ready to go, and then began planning out his night, conjuring up a long, heavy broadsword just to fool around with while they were out. It was all black with long, silvery accents, the hilt wrapping about his prosthetic and bonding to his hand. Then they left -- Shiro teleporting just outside of a hospital like he had promised Atlas nearly a week ago. He leaned up against the sign, sharpening his sword against its concrete casing as he nodded towards the building filled with sick and dying.

"Go eat up some evil souls, yeah girl?" he had laughed, snickering to himself as he watched Atlas bound off towards the building, each window sparkling in the blackness of the night.

As he waited for Atlas, who likely prowled through the hospital wings, dragging along death and an aura of pure despair in her invisible wake, he killed the plants around him -- he let his magic flood and seep into the ground, death eating up each blade of grass as he strolled around the hospital grounds. The flower bushes shriveled into brown skeletons. The leaves of one of the larger trees all crumpled in on themselves, withering away into dust as the bark of the tree peeled and turned grey. Shiro dragged sharpened claws along the side of the building, long streaks of black following in his hands eerie path as he turned corner to corner, listening to the happy howls of his Hellhound collecting the souls of the damned. Shiro could almost hear the piercing hum of heart monitors and the cry of nurses and doctors as room after room lost its patient. Of course she wouldn't kill everyone, no. Just those who lived their lives bad enough to get sentenced to Hell. Those were the lives Atlas had the pleasure to eat up as she prowled through the halls of the hospital. Shiro was sure there was more than enough for her there.

Out of nowhere, a flash of lightning blazed behind him. Shiro whipped around, his eyes washing over a once starry sky turned pitch black with thunderclouds. Magic poured into his limbs and his torso and his head -- feeding him in an instant as rain began to patter down from the dark sky. The lights around him winked out, some sputtering to their deaths, others simply exploding and shattering into glassy fragments that clattered onto the paved walkways of the hospital grounds. Shiro watched the world around him, amazed at the sudden change. The sound of thunder caught up with that lighting, and exploded about in with a heart bang of sound, rattling the ground.

Shiro laughed at the chaos, looking down at his hands. He hadn't been controlling the weather at all -- maybe once or twice he made the wind howl, but he could never create a full on thunderstorm. No, a thunderstorm was no demon's doing. The heavens had to be pissed about something. Only they could make it storm like that. Judging by the flash of light somewhere to his right, and then the groundbreaking slap of roaring thunder that followed, Shiro guessed whatever the heavens were angry about, it had to be big.

It took a second for things to click.

"Oh," Shiro said, blinking. His smile left him quickly. "Fuck."

He wasn't exactly feral yet -- maybe on the cusp of losing all control, but not for at least another few minutes or so. Despite that, there was no doubting his obvious teeming ferocity -- he could nearly feel the want for destruction radiating from his skin and poisoning the aura about him. If his sudden guessings were right, and heaven had cast Lotor out, it would be dangerous going back to check the warehouse. But... Shiro wasn't exactly in the most rational mindset. The moment it dawned on him that Lotor might have been in town still, he had reached out to Atlas with his thoughts and told her he'd be right back. In an instant, the windy, rainy world outside the hospital shifted and morphed into that of Shiro's leaky warehouse.

Heavy rain pattered against the split ceilings and splintered windows. Water splattered in through every nook and every cranny. Shiro looked around the nearly pitch black warehouse, the only light a barely spluttering lamp over by the mattress. He was drawn to the light, and then his gaze was instantly pulled towards an unfamiliar form laying in his bed. At the sight, a new scent instantly swathed about the room in a heavy fug that almost left Shiro reeling in shock. He took a step backwards, eyes opening up wide as something new and dark he'd never smelled before twisted into his nostrils. An instant sense of territorial anger gripped at him, and Shiro acted in an instant.

One strong fist gripped the slack of the new creature's shirt and then slammed its weak form against the nearest wall. The foundations of the building quivered, and spiderwebbed cracks ran up along the concrete Shiro had pummeled the thing's body into. Whatever it was whimpered out, the sound of pain making Shiro's eyes flicker and his lips curl up in amusement as he rose the blade on his hand to the creature's throat. His tail was whipping back and forth behind him, snapping and cracking along with the rumble of thunder outside. Shiro pushed harder against the creature's ribs, feeling them bend under his touch -- much more and they'd likely snap. The scent of strange blood was strong, the scent of despair and pain even stronger. Shiro licked his lips, fangs bared and at the ready as he washed his eyes over the thing he was about to slaughter.

"Who are you?" he said in a seething tone, leaning down to look at the creature's face. Shiro's voice wasn't his own -- it was a voice infused with dark magic and mindless malice. There was something tugging at the back of his head, but Shiro shook it away -- not wanting to understand why his common sense told him no. He just wanted bloodshed. He just wanted whatever that thing was to be something he could kill. When the creature didn't respond, Shiro pulled it from the wall, and then slammed it back again with the same force as before. The building trembled. The walls cracked. The creature whimpered again.

"Answer me!"

Lotor lay limp in his hold, eyes only raising to meet Shiro's gaze for half a second. He remained silent for a few moments longer, unable to voice his yearning for Shiro to just execute him- to simply get it over with. To save him from further rejection and abuse. His hair fell about him, torn down from it's braid and cut to be just below his shoulders- resembling which Guardian had killed him while being a sign of disgrace from his time on earth. He'd had long hair to show that he had never lost a battle. It was a proud statement of his, as he rarely got into fights and so he did not lose, and such was why he looked after his hair so cautiously. It was matted now, knotted and clumped. It looked as if he'd slept through a thousand night terrors- tossing and turning until he had bed head worse than imaginable. He no longer cared for his appearance.

Why should he? He had no prestige. He had nobody to impress and he was aware of the disgrace he had become. He had no reason to beg for his life, nor to answer Shiro's question. The demon had had things to live for. That was why he had begged. The wretch in his hold, with his life being threatened, had no reason to argue and nothing to survive to achieve. He spoke, his voice showing that he was nothing but defeated.

"Please," he pleaded the demon with an empty voice. "End it. Take my soul and leave me to rot."

How humiliating. How quickly his life had turned from something so glorious and true to forcing him into a disgusting position. But how was he to continue with his head held high? How was he to live as he had done when an angel? How was he to act as though he had earned a place of honour and prestige when he had lost an eternity of bliss for a new kind of hell.

He closed his eyes again, a black tear rolling down his cheek and landing on Shiro's hand. And he waited for a death that never came.

Shiro's anger left him in an instant. "Lotor?"

Not only did he pull the blade back, but he let it fade away into whatever fold of reality it would normally sit in. Shiro released his grip on Lotor's chest, bringing both hands to Lotor's shoulders as he eased the angel to his knees. He looked him up and down, all of that rage and bloodlust leaving his system when he realized that... that Lotor didn't even look like an angel anymore. Everything was wrong. Everything was different. Even the halo was gone, reduced to sharpened shards that danced around his head in a weak attempted circle. Shiro sank down to his knees so that they were level, trying to meet Lotor's downcasted eyes.

"What the fuck? What happened to you?" Shiro asked confusion heavy in his tone. His voice was back to normal, the dark whisper of evil gone from his words as he asked Lotor his nervous question. "Your... your wing? Shit, Lotor, you look like-"

"The heavens rejected me," he said in a low voice. The anger may have left Shiro, the evil may be lacking, but Lotor had collected it and his words were full of malice directed at those vile creatures above him. "Consorting with, making a deal with, and accepting dark magic from a demon. They charge me with crimes and do not hear the cause. They poison my tongue with magic to force confessions from their lies!" His voice was raising, hot tears rolling down his cheeks again.

He looked down at his hands, at the sickly talons that clung to his flesh, melting away into regular skin. "They cast their gaze on me as I wept. They watched as the Guardian raised her spear and sliced my wing in half. They laughed, whispered, told each other I deserved it. The angels turned their back on me. They were the ones who showed me unity and trust and peace, yet they never believed that I deserved it!" The anger made a dark energy surround him. So many negative feelings, all overwhelming him. All too much and too strong but he didn't care. "I could hear them. Watching me as I pleaded my innocence, my words censored to preserve guilt and a false truth! I heard them when they spoke. I'm the same as my father, I never belonged, I deserved what I got! I have no soulmate, I don't belong, it's what they expected to happen!" His sclera flashed black for a moment, matching the dark shade of his iris. Anger was turned into energy that surrounded him, healing over his wing but it did not grow back. Forcing his horns to grow out fully, almost meeting the height at which his shattered halo sat.

His words were snarled now. Hissed and snarled and spat from his tongue like a sickly disease.

"I was told to take comfort in knowing that I could return to my father! Told to be proud that I was left for dead! I was sent to earth and refused, and fought back- and when I return they slice my wing and remind me of how undeserving I was of my position in heaven! The Goddess of the White Lion herself could have enforced that revenge upon me for my involvement with a demon like you and I could never confront her without committing myself to either heaven or hell! She does not care for the misfit wretches of this world!" He was shaking. His form could only handle so much of this energy. The anger he held, that had been repressed for so long and had never gone away, finally returned. Bloomed, blossomed, grew from his throat in a mess of degenerate insults and sharp words.

 

"My halo will remain shattered around my head to remind all of those who meet me of who I once was. My destined fate is one worse than death and you would be far more merciful than all of the heavens above to execute me before I'm forced to witness it. If you refuse, I shall do so myself." Finally, with those last words, he seemed to have gone quiet while he recovered his breath. Overwhelmed with this new twist of fate and sickened by the creature he had become. His head throbbed, the chains around his heart tightening their hold on him. Would this kind of a situation make his soul more or less valuable? He was a rare creature, but that only made him hideous. He only wished his soul wouldn't reflect that.

Shiro watched him, a little dumbstruck. The progressive nature of his feralness seemed to pause for a moment or so while he processed it -- running his eyes up and down Lotor's trembling form. "A fallen angel," he murmured to himself in a muse, shaking his head. "But... but a fallen angel condemned to Hell... I... I didn't know that this could happen... fuck, Lotor..."

"To hell or to misery on earth. My options are either to wander helplessly here or to submit myself to torture." He offered a small smile, though it was tired and frail and so clearly false. "Never a worse fate than this one. I'll either return to hell now or grow bored of humanity and do it in a decade, a century, or a millenia"

Shiro stared for a few more seconds, thinking hopelessly for a solution. It was obvious Lotor was overflowing with dark magic from both the New Moon and Shiro's own presence, but unlike Shiro, his half human body couldn't take it all. He could see the black, spiderwebbed veins bulging beneath Lotor's skin, the sight making it seem as if the creature before him had been cracking into tiny little pieces... not that such a metaphor would be far off. Shiro swallowed hard, raising up his shoulders a bit.

"Well, uh, you don't gotta die or anything. You've got me to keep you company, I guess," he muttered, almost in a strange form of comfort. Shiro reached down to Lotor's hand, intertwining their fingers like he had done before. "You're teeming with black magic, Lotor. Your body can't take it. Let me take some of it from you."

Lotor's gaze drifted down to Shiro's hand, laced in with his. The touch alone was comforting. Shiro's words, his reassurance- he broke down. He couldn't take this harsh reality. As the tears spilled down his cheeks, broken and hurt sobs escaping Lotor, energy flowed from his hand to Shiro's. The new energy forming would simply empty itself into Shiro's hand along with the pre-existing energy he had harnessed for so long. As he sobbed, crying, feverishly wiping at his toxic tears with his free hand, he could feel the energy leaving him. He could feel his iris' turn violet, then lavender again. He could see that the tears welling up in his eyes were now clear again and no longer so dark.

He felt himself being cleansed, purified, healed. He could feel the evil energy slowly fading from his system. The toxicity ebbed away and by the time it was gone enough for Lotor's tears to dry and his hand to stop selling off his power, he was almost himself again. The physical things were the same- horns, fangs, broken halo and wings, talons, darkened mark- they remained. But the little things and the barely noticeable features had left. His eyes were the same, his complexion was no longer so waxy, colour had returned to his cheeks and lips. He no longer looked like such a monster. He no longer felt like one.

Shiro, on the other hand, went through the opposite transition. When he finally pulled away, having taken all of the dark energy he could muster form Lotor's body, his own form had been trembling. The silver of his eyes had winked out, overcome with an inky spill of blackness. Dark mist rose from his tremulous shoulders, the magic literally leaking from his aura and infecting the air around him. Shiro gasped, heaving as he stood and stumbled backwards, only to fall back down to his knees. The feralness was right there -- right there knocking at his door. Everything he'd been told about holding it back was true -- Shiro felt like screaming at the suddenly pure agony that overcame him as he tried to stuff it back. He grit his teeth, hands rising up to his skull, gripping at his hair.

"I have to go," he whispered, the dark infused words echoing around the room, cracking the windows, bursting the bulb of that lamp. The glass scattered, tinkling as it hit the ground. "I'll come back. Can-" Shiro cut himself off with a growl, his grip curling tighter against his head, threatening to rip the hair from his scalp. It took a second or so for the waving urge to pass. "Can you handle being on your own for the night?"

Lotor nodded, finally feeling stable again as he looked to Shiro.

"Of course," he murmured, straightening up a little. He could see all the little changes in Shiro's demeanour, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the door. "Feel free to go." He didn't want to be close to Shiro while the creature was like this. He could tell that he was threatened with this closeness even if he wasn't a particular target. Shiro was suddenly teeming with such intense demonic energy that anyone so close to him would be in dangerous proximity. He felt like slipping off to sleep while Shiro was gone. It would keep the dark energy from corrupting him too much and save him a night of feeling sorry for himself due to his new pitiful state.

Shiro didn't even wait to respond. He teleported somewhere far away in an instant, the blast of his magic shooting thought the warehouse as he was whisked away -- shattering the remaining windows, overturning the occasional chair, rattling the chains and making the old, rusted machinery groan in almost an eerie fright. Shiro's knees met soft ground and his hands bed cool blades of rain covered grass as he slammed his hands down to the ground, feeling an explosion of death spread out from his fingertips, encircling him in a neat circle about the field he had landed it. The world around him greyed. 

 

The demon let out a guttural roar as he finally let the magic possess him, everything climbing up to his head and flooding his conscious like water that had just bursted from a dam. That animalistic sound from before morphed into cruel laughter as Shiro tipped his head back, black eyes staring up at the heavens, their rains beating down upon his face and their lighting flashing in his peripherals. Shiro lost his memory of all events that may have occured after that... all he remembered was the feeling of excited rage flowing heavily through his system as he caused whatever sort of chaos he could.

He was in a forest somewhere when he came to his senses, leaned up against the large trunk of a dead weeping willow, head a little light as he looked up into the bright world around him. Atlas was there, scratching at a tree for some animals that had scurried away from her snapping jaws. It was well past sunrise -- the cloudy sky was painfully bright and burned his eyes -- and still the energy seemed to thrum like electricity beneath his skin. Shiro groaned and lifted a hand to his head, figuring by the trails of grey, wilted grasses that he'd been just causing his mayhem in some fucking woodlands or something. A soft flutter of guilt plagued him, but the magic shooed it away, rushing to his pained joints to heal them too as he pushed himself up from the tree into a stand.

"Good night?" Shiro asked Atlas, his tone croaky, his voice lost. She turned around and huffed in agreement, looking as healthy and well fed as ever. Shiro snorted and shook his head. "I guess we should go check on Lotor, huh? He's been alone all night and he was kinda freaking me out with all that 'kill me' shit. I hope he's not dead. That would suck."

Atlas nodded, bounding over to him. She huffed again, and Shiro narrowed his eyes.

"No, I don't like him," he muttered. "I'm just saying it would suck to have your angel servent off himself before he even does anything good for you."

The hound whined and cocked her head. Shiro scowled at her, and held up his hands. "No, I don't want to hear that," he muttered, shaking his head. "Keep that up and I won't take you to the hospital again."

The Hellhound pouted, but complied, nudging her head forward to touch Shiro's hand so he could teleport her back to the warehouse for the day.

Teleportation was easy, of course. The drunken power of his left over magic made it fairly simple to just close his eyes, feel the winds of reality turning about him, and then open his eyes to the familiar sight of his disgusting home. Shiro sighed, dusted himself off, and began to stroll forward, in search of Lotor. He just started to call out the sort-of-angel's name when he noticed something off about the place, his eyes narrowing as he ran them over the floor and the walls...

Were they always that color?

"Lotor!" Shiro yelled, cocking his head. "Where are you? What did you do?"

"In here!" called Lotor from the bedroom, just brushing things up and making the bed a little. He'd been cleaning up. The place was grimy and disgusting and if he was going to be living here, he wasn't going to have it so dirty. He'd finally brushed through his hair, leaving it straight and neat. A small pair of scissors on the bedside table showed that he'd had to cut it a little more to neaten it up.

Whatever slump he had been in earlier was gone. If not permanently, it mattered that it was gone for now. That he was keeping himself together somehow, regardless of whatever he must have been telling himself. After a few moments, he continued speaking in a loud voice to ensure that he would be heard. "I've been cleaning. This place, even as you may call it a home, is disgusting and has needed to be cleaned for decades. You may notice that the mould, the rot, and all kinds of water stains are now gone. That's because this place was unhygienic and I don't know how my body's immune system would fare against such conditions. I still haven't figured out the limits of what I can do." He brushed his hands off a little, turning to face the demon as he entered the room.

Even the energy of the place seemed a little less dismal. As unusual as it was to have a pleasant place to live... it made a lot of a difference. Even the slight cleaning, it was useful. Lotor had cleaned the windows, too, meaning that at least a little light would seep into the bedroom. It hadn't been hard work, but for someone who wasn't used to cleaning without a simple flick of their hand and magic energy that could do the rest. He had attempted it, but since Shiro had drained so much of his magic he was rendered incapable of it.

Shiro was still scanning the warehouse around him, amazed at how monochromatic each surface had become. The grey cement of the floor no longer had creeping splotches of green or brown stemming from corners or rotten food Shiro had left to decompose wherever he had flung it off to. The dark walls no longer had long strips of green or yellow, the metal surfaces polished to a dull shine, nearly perfect aside from the deep orange-brown of rust. Shiro looked down at his mattress, seeing the moldy sheets from the corner dried out and washed -- folded at the corner of the bed, looking as crisp and comfy as ever. He gave a dissatisfied snort, and then flicked his scrutinous gaze up to Lotor. His hair looked better... as did his skin and his eyes and the look on his features. Of course the horns, busted halo, and mangled wing were all still problems but... he looked more like himself than he did the night before.

"I guess you're feeling better?" Shiro muttered, rolling his eyes and turning around to look about his home some more. He winced a little a the light pouring in from the windows, lifting a hand to shade his eyes. "Ugh. Too bright." His voice was a complaining mutter as he shambled along. Shiro gave a whine, scuffing his foot over a slightly darker patch on the floor -- the spot indicating the absence of his favorite patch of mold. "You got rid of all my cool mold. Fungi is a demon's best friend, man. Not cool..."

Shiro's comments made Lotor laugh- a genuine, light, sweet sound from his lips. He hadn't laughed around Shiro before, it was new. Cute. It made Shiro's face instantly flush for some odd reason — the odd rushing of heat suddenly making him glad his back was turned. Lotor smiled a little, beginning to fix the bedsheets a little more.  
"Sorry, it won't be coming back. I'm going to keep this place clean before it can be anywhere near the same state it was last time." He settled on the edge of the bed, moving one hand to run through his hair. When his hand met his horns, he winced. When his fingers left his hair sooner than expected, he whimpered. He may have been trying to play it off, but it was killing him to be so different.

"Relax a little. How was the, uh, new moon?"

"It was fine," Shiro said gruffly, rubbing at the back of his hot neck. He took in a deep breath, contained himself, and turned back around to face the fallen angel behind him. "I fucked up a forest... which kind of sucks but it's better than ripping your head off I guess. I'll have to go back there again tonight. It won't really be New Moon, but judging on the thunderstorms and the power in my system still, I'm probably going to turn feral again."

Shiro gave a sigh, folding his arms over his chest. "So you found the water pipe then? The one out back?" he asked, cocking his head. "I meant to tell you about that. It's water from a nearby spring — good stuff. If you get thirsty or whatever and I'm not here to help, it's safe to drink." Shiro gave a soft sigh, and rose his shoulders. "You didn't answer my question from before. Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah," he smiled a little. "Perhaps not mentally, but physically I've recovered drastically. And yes, I found the water pipe and checked that it was safe before drinking any and using it it to clean up. Did you say that you'd destroyed an... entire forest? Shit, Shiro, that's a lot of damage." He could imagine the level of damage that that must have been- the consequences that could have caused.

Shiro's eyes widened a little at the curse, but otherwise he just shrugged the statement off. "Not like I could help it," he muttered, rolling his eyes again.

Lotor wasn't an angel enough to want to fix Shiro's mess, but he wasn't demon enough to enjoy the destruction either. It was odd to be in the middle ground. It was disturbing to consider the very likely possibility that he was the only creature that would ever exist as he was- rejected from heaven and not yet welcomed in hell.

He pushed the thoughts back, focusing on Shiro again.  
"Is there anything on the agenda for today?"

Shiro nodded. "I was gonna swing by Lance's and tell him I cut ties with Keith — ask him to let go of our deal too," he said, smoothing his hands down his suit to clean off the bits of leaves and dead grass. They fluttered from him with a magical grace all over the clean floor, and, upon Lotor's judging glare, Shiro gave a dramatic sigh and flicked his wrist to teleport the new mess away properly. "And then I was going to go to Keith's and tell him not to call me anymore. I'm sure he felt our disconnection, but I wanna make sure he understands."

He reached his hands up in a stretch, yawning. "Then," he grunted, cracking his fingers, "I'm going to go to the library, and research the fuck out of whatever it's happening to you." Shiro straightened, letting his spine pop as he arched his back into another sort of stretch. "I'll come by and scoop you up if you want. You're going to have to find a way to cover up all of... that." He gestured Lotor's new features with a soft wince. "Then I'll drop you back off here around sunset, and go back to the woods to mess some shit up. Fun day, huh?"

"Mhm, sounds like it," Lotor said as he got to his feet. "Then I'll be spending the day learning how to harness and control my magic and... hoping for the best, I'll say." He glanced over at Shiro. "Good luck with the two of them. Try not to let Keith tempt you into another deal, no matter what he offers you. It'll break our deal if you agree to that and that's going to be agony for me."

He moved to the mirror, beginning to braid his hair into a small crown-like shape at the top of his head to preserve at least a little of the dignity he used to have with his hair. His braids had symbolised strength and having his hair sliced like that... It had been a new kind of humiliation. It had been devastating to lose what he believed held so much power about him and his rule. His long hair and braids symbolised strength without violence, without losing fights or turning to war. The strand cut short at the front of his hair evidently symbolised losing a battle. He assumed it was the one that cost him his life, but it was an insignificant enough detail for him not to mind too much. It was now only a little short in comparison to the rest of his hair, anyway.

Shiro nodded. "Only reason he was able to tempt me last time was because I was a little low on magic," he said, sighing. "I'm in my prime right now, hun. Those human pricks ain't nothing on this package of premium dark magic." Shiro smirked slickly, gesturing himself as he spoke. "Besides, I'm not feeling any cravings for human blood any time soon. I think I stocked up on, like, a deer or two last night or something. Not as tasty as human blood but a demon's gotta do what a demon's gotta do, you know?"

"Oh, yeah," Lotor nodded with a teasing grin upon his lips. "Totally. Full package," he glanced at Shiro, giving him a once-over. Of course, a few stray thoughts flickered through his head (inherently sexual and a little too graphic for Lotor's ex-angel mind) but he was able to ignore them. For now.

Shiro gave a soft laugh at Lotor's response, rising up his shoulders in a shrug as he spun around, in search for one of the many talisman or stone artifacts he had scattered about his warehouse. "Hey, angel face, you wouldn't have happened to put up a big round charm while you were cleaning, would you?" he turned around and cupped his palms to the size of the talisman he spoke of. "This big? It's got white lines and latin symbols all over it? Painted black but made out of human bone? I'm gonna give that to you. All you gotta do is sprinkle a drop of your blood on it and it calls me to you. Figured it would be handy if you need anything while I'm out."

Rummaging through a compartment by Shiro's mirror, Lotor soon dug out the item that the demon requested. "You need to look after things better," he said as he offered it out to him. "You could have broken this. It was just on the floor and if you stepped on it, it would have broken. Doesn't look too stable," he explained simply as he stood, turning and approaching Shiro. He glanced at him, studying him for a few moments before beginning to fix his hair, tidying it and slicking it back a little more where it had come loose. Even Shiro could care about his appearance, surely?

"Of course it isn't too stable," Shiro laughed, snickering as he shook his head. "It's a thousand years old. You keep it -- there's a string. Just tie it around your neck for now."

Lotor did as he was told. Now content, he moved back. "And all it takes is one drop of my blood? I can do that." He glanced at his bloodied wing, stained and sticky with the iridescent fluid. "Yeah," he murmured to himself. "I can manage."

Shiro nodded. "Well, perfect," he hummed, rubbing his hands together. He turned around, tail flicking behind him as he looked around the warehouse. "Do you know your way around this place yet? It's kind of humongous. It's an old storage unit for a factory somewhere deep in the woods. I go there sometimes to spray paint demonic shit on the walls to summon spirits or monsters -- fuck, the amount of ghost stories I've caused, man. I'm a legend." Shiro laughed, turning to look at Lotor over his shoulder.

"This is where I sleep most of the time, obviously, but there's more places I like to curl up," Shiro explained. "Like up on the catwalks where the sun shines in just right. Or down in the basement inside the old heater -- I scooped out all the metal stuff and filled it with blankets. Most of the time if you can't find me I'll be in one of those places." Shiro moved his finger to point at a door on the far side of the room. "That's the door to get to the field out back. I go out there to watch the stars sometimes, or to smell the wind. It's nice until the scent of the town gets in it and your stuck with car exhaust and other human filth Then there's the water spout outside, but you know that. If you ever want to visit the spring well it comes from, it's just a straight walk into the forest for a mile or two. Pretty, but again you've got human stink all over it." Shiro trailed his finger to the other side of the room, pointing at the rusty door that lead out into the rest of the warehouse.

"All the storage units are all that way. I don't go there much -- there's some silver machinery back there that burns if I get too close -- but the stairs to the basement are that way so, you know," he said bluntly, shrugging his shoulders. "You're free to explore where ever. Just... don't touch my stuff. Again. Your scent... it's kinda... wigging me out? No offense or anything but..." Shiro trailed off, sniffing the air deeply to try and catch a whiff of Lotor's strange new smell. "It's... kinda different. Not bad but... different." Not realizing he had closed his eyes, Shiro instantly fluttered them open and tried not to look so focused on Lotor and his fucking smell. Shiro shook his head, disregarding the statements he had let slip through his own mouth. "I just like my stuff to smell like me. It's a territorial thing so... yeah... any other questions?"

"Are you a cat or something? You share a lot of behavioural tendencies with cats." It wasn't too clear whether he was joking or not, but he stood after a couple of moments, dropping the subject entirely. "No questions. I'll see you whenever I summon you. Again, good luck." He gestured to the door. "I'll be practicing my magic or exploring around while I wait for your return."

Shiro frowned at him. "A cat?" he asked finally after another moment or of silence, almost sounding offended. "I hate cats. I'm not-... I'm not a cat I'm a demon!" He huffed, shaking his head, his tail whipping behind him... Shiro noticed its feline like flicking and reached a hand back to hold it still, blushing wildly. "Cats are cute. I'm not cute. I'm evil and scary..."

He looked off to the side, face hot. "I'll be back in a few hours to pick you up," he muttered. "Don't summon me unless its an emergency. A real emergency. I don't care if you break a nail or something, handsome."

With that, and a quiet curse at himself for calling Lotor handsome, Shiro turned around on his heel and bean to summon the proper energy for teleportation. He was gone just moments after that, the rush of his power wafting about the clean warehouse and lingering there in the air for a good collection of seconds. The temperature rose, and the heavy feeling of the atmosphere lightened as the presence faded.

When the source of dark energy had left the warehouse, Lotor realised that his own energy had been charging up- Shiro evidently being a power source for him. He glanced to the mirror, his eyes reflecting violet. Not too much power, but enough for him to start to dabble. Hopefully this little power wouldn't cause too much damage if something went wrong. Nonetheless- deciding that if any issues arose, he could deal with them swiftly upon their arrival- Lotor began wandering to the nearest empty area that he could find. One that didn't even have a lingering scent of humans. One that would have no indicator that humans had even been there, or that they would come see it. He needed somewhere abandoned. He didn't exactly trust himself or his energy yet, so he couldn't risk hurting anyone or anything.

Not after accidentally doing that with Shiro.


	12. A Busy Day

Shiro went to Lance's house first. He wanted to make it so Lance had no choice but to speak to him -- the boy had shown his bitterness towards Shiro before... he didn't want to get shunned away before splitting up the contract. So, instead of materializing inside Lance's room where Lance could push him away or just walk from himself, Shiro let himself show on Lance's front porch. The wood creaked gently beneath, almost as though it had been surprised at the sudden weight. Shiro ignored it, closing his eyes and masking his demon appearance for something mortal but no less dashing -- the same civilian look from his normal strolls through town, but a little more refined and handsome with the delicious black suit and the subtle yet accenting make up his magic provided. His horns faded, his eyes morphed to some sort of normal, his claws sank to well manicured, polished nails. His beetle-black arm shimmered and smoothed itself out into a steel prosthetic any old human might own -- a richer human, due to the things sophistication, but still human.

Sighing, the human-demon went to knock on the door. Three heavy taps. He drew back and waited, tongue running across the absent spaces of his fangs as he listened to footsteps creak inside the house. The door opened itself, revealing the confused face of a middle aged woman, a basket of laundry on her hip. She opened up the door a little more, running her eyes up and down Shiro's form. When she parted her lips to speak, Shiro made sure his enthusiasm got out before any of her questions could.

"Hello," he said with perfect chipperness. SHiro offered out his hand to shake. "I'm a student teacher at Garrison high school. I've had the pleasure of teaching your son, Lance. This is the McClain house, correct? You're Mrs. McClain?"

The woman took his hand and shook it gingerly. "Correct," she said slowly. "You teach Lance?"

"Only sometimes. I'm practicing in learning environments for an assignment from college," Shiro explained, rising one of his shoulders. He gave the sweetest, most innocent smile -- one just bright with the want for learning and knowledge. "I want to be an English teacher. Preferably high school. I came over because your son asked me to work with him on something -- a book report and then some studying for his final. He is in AP, right?"

Lance's mother sighed. "Yeah. Not that he's doing very well in there right now..." her tone was tired as she stepped aside, opening up the door a little more. Shiro smirked a little before letting his face change back to the eager student teacher's brightness. "He's never mentioned inviting a tutor over... your name is?"

"All the kids just call me Shiro," he said simply, shrugging up his shoulders as he stepped inside. "If you tell Lance Shiro is here, I'm sure he'll understand. Kinda strange he didn't tell you about me... we're kinda buddies. He's a good kid."

A flicker of sadness crossed Mrs. McClain's features at the mention of her obviously not-so-good-kid's goodness -- Shiro almost let his act crack a little to laugh about it, but he held firm. "I'll be sure to go upstairs and get him then," she said, nodding as she set the basket down. "Would you like anything, sir? Lemonade?"

"Nah, I'll be fine. Thank you ma'am," Shiro assured graciously, nodding his head. "Just came by to help out Lance, you know?"

The woman nodded, laughing a little, and started upstairs. "I'll just be a second," she called down to Shiro. "Lance is... Lance is always in his room..."

The loud knocks on the door disturbed Lance. He'd been in bed, messaging Keith and listening to music through his headphones. He tugged one from his ear and sent Keith a quick 'brb mom' as he dropped his phone on the bed.

"What is it?" He called through his door, bringing himself to sit up. His mom pushed open the door, telling him all about Shiro stood by the door- the whole tutor bullshit. He'd paled hearing the name. "Can you tell him I'm not in?"

"No, Lance. He knows you're in and you can't skip a tutor session you organised. Come on."

He groaned a little, about to argue when he saw the look he was fixed with. What the hell could Shiro was so badly that he comes here to get it? What could Shiro want so badly that he knocks on the door for his house? He began down the stairs, wearing loose-fitting ripped blue jeans and a black hoodie. One of Keith's.

"You're not meant to come until Friday," he muttered to Shiro, fixing him with a glare. "So I haven't drawn anything. What is it?" He stopped in front of Shiro, arms over his chest, glaring up at him. "What's so important that you decided to come to my house today instead?"

He waited a few moments, sighing, before he stepped aside and gestured for Shiro to go upstairs. "We'll talk up there. Out of everyone's way. You're not going to be seen by anyone else in my family or I swear to God, Shiro, I'm going to break something."

Shiro held a finger up to his own smirking lips, and nodded up towards the stairway where Lance's mother had been stepping tiredly down. The two waited until she moved her way past, Shiro smiling warmly at her as she made her way into the kitchen. Once she was out of ear-shot and eye-shot, he turned around, and promptly scowled.

"She is so disappointed in you," Shiro sighed, reaching up a hand to rub his temple. "Let's go upstairs and study, hm?"

Shiro, smirking at Lance's burning reluctance, was then lead upstairs to Lance's bedroom. They both slipped inside, Lance locking the door behind him. Shiro sighed as he wandered his way further into the room, humming to himself as he looked about Lance's rather messy dwelling.

"You and Lotor are nada anymore," Shiro said simply, folding his arms over his chest as he looked over his shoulder. "Your connection to him snapped. He can't help your sorry ass anymore and... and quite frankly I don't want to help you anymore either." He gave a soft sigh, and rose his shoulders up. "Came here to tell you I want to split off the deal. I'm not Keith's demon anymore -- I gave him up to the power of light or what the fuck ever. I'm done with both of you. I just came to ask for a peaceful deals off, you dig?"

"What the fuck?!" Lance asked, taking a step toward Shiro. "What, a 'peaceful' deals off but you bust into my house unannounced, you insult me, you don't give me any context and I'm just- what- supposed to accept it? Just shrug it off and let you leave? I could tell that Lotor wasn't connected to me anymore but- but what happened? I deserve to know what happened! You can't just break in and announce this kind of shit without expecting some kind of a retaliation!"

He shoved Shiro, both hands hitting the demon's chest to push him back. Lance's hands curled into fists at his sides as he pulled back. "Fucking demons. Fucking asshole," he muttered under his breath as he snatched up his phone. "You told Keith yet?"

Shiro scowled, trying hard to keep his temper under wraps. He smoothed his hands down his chest where Lance had touched him, wiping off the ghost of Lance's hands as if they had been something to regard with disgust. "You should watch yourself," Shiro muttered darkly, eying the phone in Lance's hand. Realization flickered in Shiro's mind, and he flicked his wrist, ripping the cell from Lance's hands with magic and teleporting the thing into his own. Shiro held it up high over his head, a threat in his eyes as he watched Lance begin to advance. "One step and your precious cell phone is dust." His voice clicked with a growl. "You shouldn't have pushed me. I'm expecting an apology... but no. I haven't told Keith. I'm going to visit him after I talk to you."

Shiro took a slow step backwards, cocking his head and raising his other hand to point. Lance opened his mouth to argue when Shiro began to speak and he closed his mouth again.. "You've got a lot of nerve for some rotten fucking mortal," Shiro growled. He snarled his lips to show his fangs... but of course he didn't have any in that human form of his. It didn't matter though — the look was threatening all the same. Magic thumped inside of him with his suddenly rapid heartbeat. His eyes flickered. His mortal facade faltered for a moment or so, exposing flashes of his tail or his fangs. A sudden washing of pure loathing for that stupid boy overcame Shiro — the boy who caused all of that fucking mess. The boy who ruined Lotor and ruined Keith and was damn near ruining him.

"Apologize for pushing me. Or I'll snap your phone in half. Better yet I'll burn your fucking house down. I'll make sure your mother chokes to death on smoke and soot. That or get burned alive by the flame. Do you know how slow and painful getting cooked alive is, Lance? I do. She'll be in agony. Her and your whole God damn family. If you even fucking care about them, you worthless little maggot... either way. Apologize!"

"What, I push you and you threaten to kill my fucking family?! Whatever, I'm fucking sorry, now get out!" he hissed, taking a step away from the demon just in case he decided to try something. "Leave! I don't want you in my fucking room! You're a sick fucker and all you've done is ruin lives and I bet you killed Lotor and that's why he isn't coming back! Get the fuck away from me and my house and don't come back!" He grabbed something to throw at Shiro, a small teddy that he'd had since he was a child. "You're not as intimidating as you think, you're just annoying! You're just a spoilt fucker who decides to take advantage of people! God knows why Keith had any kind of interest in you."

He took a step back, dropping the toy instead of throwing it. He was a little red with anger, his breathing uneven and his eyes full of anger. His aura was so vividly poisoned, so much more dark than it was light. The angels lost their hold on him and it would only be so long before another demon came in Shiro's place to try and tempt him down to hell and the angels would coax Keith to the path of light. How the tables had turned; someone once so good was now harnessing so much anger, such sadness, and all of it repressed into little outbursts- like this one.

Shiro watched him, growing darker and darker. "So the deals off?" he asked in a snarling sort of tone, watching the boy before him with a stare of pure disgust. "Say it. Say the deal is off so I can finally fucking never see your ass again."

"Fuck you," Lance spat. "It's off. It's over. And I don't want to see your fucking face again either."

A rush of magic thrummed through them both, washing over each of their systems like real water -- the sensation normal for Shiro but physically making Lance shudder. The chains unlinked themselves, falling into nothing upon the floor. Shiro watched them go, fading into red mist before settling invisibly about the carpet around them. Shiro gave a deep sigh, mentally checking that particular box of his internal to-do list. He looked up at the boy before him, and then gave a toothy yet menacing grin, the fangs misting back into vision as his true form revealed itself from its stifling human design.

"Wish I could say it was a pleasure doing business with you," Shiro muttered, gathering enough magic to teleport again. "But you're a brat. You deserve a little bit of off-screen time. Go smell the flowers or some shit."

"Yeah," Lance hissed. "I'll be glad to get time away from you." An overly sweet tone fixed onto his voice, a smile on his features that was so obviously false. "Go suck a dick or some shit."

Shiro scowled darkly, his nostrils flaring at the comment. Without thinking, he clamped his hand down hard on Lance's phone, snapping it into bits of plastic and the flickering glitch of a screen. He watched Lance lunge forwards towards him, but he was gone before the boy could even get close -- the gust of his magic and the splintered bits of Lance's smartphone the only thing in his wake...

Lotor was back in the warehouse. Lying back on the bed, one hand outstretched above him as he transferred his magic through his fingers and out into the sky in sudden bursts of vivid light- then it would return to him and fade from sight. He simply lay there on his back, one hand on his stomach.

He had a wound, he'd noticed. From where the Guardian had dug the hilt of her weapon into his spine. On his back was a simple white mark to signal the burn- a branded mark of betrayal to angels. On his stomach was inky black poison in a sigil- one bearing resemblance to a harp but without strings, with various lines and angles and blurred focus. It was an unfamiliar mark but it's meaning made itself evident whenever he brushed his fingers over him.

 

He was not to be welcomes back into heaven for as long as he would live his pitiful life. And perhaps it was for the best. Those malicious angels deserved to perish for what they had said behind closed doors and in malicious little whispers of poison tongues and sharp words. Perhaps it was for the best. He would rather see how humans lived and progressed than be restrained to heaven for centuries at a time. He had plenty to learn and to study. He had an eternity to read all of human literature.

His hand finally settled down by his side when he felt a disturbance in the energy of the room. It was Shiro, no doubt. He had been gone for too many hours now.

Shiro was bitter and angry when he appeared in his warehouse, stomping across the wet floors into his sort-of-bedroom with his hands in his coat pockets and his head tilted downwards in a position of embarrassment and fury. Keith had been a handful -- he'd been absolutely pleased to see Shiro and then completely despaired when Shiro told him they were going to have to never see each other again. He begged. He pleaded. He cut his arm open and offered his blood. Shiro refused everything, keeping Lotor's joking command in mind as he watched the pitiful display before him.

I'm a premium package of dark magic, Shiro told himself upon smelling those pearls of slick claret that dripped down Keith's arm and dribbled upon the flooring. I don't need Keith's blood. I don't want it.

He left when Keith's begging became more dangerous than desperate. Keith shouted at him. Called him all those awful names Lance had and more. He even tried to throw a punch -- it was around the third time Shiro had told Keith to just give up on the search for his mother -- but Shiro caught it and swiftly snapped Keith's wrist backwards, his face straight and emotionless even as Keith let a scream of pure agony peel from his lips. He told the trembling Keith that he was never going to return as he boy nursed his broken hand by his chest, and then simply vanished. Shiro had been looking down at the very open spot on his right wrist, suddenly realizing that the chain had been gone for a while... so why did his hand suddenly feel so incredibly light?

Whatever.

"Lotor," Shiro said when he strolled up to the mattress. "Are you ready to go? Do you have enough juice to disguise yourself? If not you can't come." Lotor stood a little. He was already disguised just from considering it, using such little magic to uphold this new appearance. Whatever his new magic was, it was powerful.

"Yes," he said softly, smiling. "I'm ready to go." His white hair was now blond, all marks and scars and non-human features safely concealed. He wore a simple white t-shirt and a black pair of jeans, taking a step toward Shiro. He noticed the lacking tension in his shoulder, how much calmer he seemed and more relaxed he was. Even when angry and bitter, Lotor couldn't deny that Shiro looked healthier from having cut ties with both Keith and Lance.

He stood before him, only a few paces away. "I assume it went well?" he asked, reaching up and fixing Shiro's hair slightly, not really thinking too much about his actions before going through with them. It wouldn't matter to much- the power he used to had was gone. He was assuming it was, anyway. Most of his old abilites were.

Shiro, just gently, flinched back, but he couldn't show too much of a reaction before Lotor brushed his bangs to the side and a buzzing flush of power darted through him. The feeling trickled about him, making him shudder. His eyes shot open, and he took a stumbling step backwards before the feeling took hold, the short and simple grace of Lotor's fingers still thrumming in his system. Shiro reached a hand up to his head, eyes narrowed.

"You still have your angel powers?" he asked, dumbfounded. Shiro reached a hand up to his chest, feeling the instant flush of light fade from his system. His scars thumped with the beat of his heart for a moment or so, laced with an ache before Shiro pushed the feeling away. "Why didn't you tell me? And don't go touching me like that -- I thought we already covered that. I'm sensitive to... whatever that is you do for some reason."

He gave a soft huff, and brushed himself off. "It went fine," he muttered before Lotor could express any of that stupid guilt he had spreading about his features. "I snapped Lance's phone and then I snapped Keith's wrist. Good day if you ask me."

"I didn't know that I could do any of it," he said softly as he pulled his hands away. "I- I wouldn't have done that if I thought I still had the same capabilities but... but evidently I do," he mumbled softly, tucking his hands into his pockets to keep from making that mistake again. "But I'm glad it went well, even if we each have very different definitions of the word."

He took a few steps back, sending a glance to the room. "I'm going to need to get some new things for your room if I'll be staying here. It's a little miserable in here right now," he mumbled with his gaze fixing on Shiro again. "And while you may love to bask yourself in your melodramatic misery, not all of us adore self-loathing and evil. I can try and preserve some essence of your... you-ness, but I'm changing most of it around." He began past Shiro after a second, starting to the warehouse door. "Come on. You're leading the way."

Shiro spun around and quickly followed, his head shaking in fast denial. "Not touching my stuff was one of the rules!" he cried, chasing after him. Shiro caught him, taking him by the elbow to stop Lotor's unaffected strolling. He turned the skeptical Lotor around, still holding tight to his arm. "Just tell me when you get anything new. It needs to smell like me, remember? Not you. And- where the hell do you think you're going? Walking off like that?"

The magic needed for teleportation was gathered in an instant, and then the world about them shifted, Shiro's hold against Lotor's arm tightening a little to keep the hold as strong as steel. He closed his eyes, feeling the air around them stale and become alive with the scents of cleaning sprays and moldy mops. Their feet met a creaky floor, the floor groaning under their unexpected weight, Shiro scrunched up his nose and coughed, reaching up a hand to his face to try and block out the overwhelming stench of bleach and lemon-scented wet wipes. He fluttered his eyes open to see the very small -- very tight -- janitors closet he had teleported them into, his vision going a little blurry as he choked on all those stupid smells. Shiro's hand, disguised as human sometime during the jump, reached out for the door handle, and pushed it open. He hastily stumbled from the tiny little closet, a mop falling out from behind him and clattering onto the ground. He gave a heavy gasp, trying to breathe in something that didn't taste synthetic -- it took a few seconds to collect his bearings. Shiro wanted to make sure they weren't seen just popping into the place but... he hadn't accounted for how powerfully that stupid little closet would smell with those heightened senses of his.

He lifted his head up, and locked his gaze with a staring boy around the age of thirteen. The kid looked from the breathless, red faced Shiro, and then up to Lotor who ungracefully made his way from the closet as well, nearly tripping over the overturned mop. He snorted, and cocked his head at Shiro.

"Did you guys have sex?"

His face went all the more red at the comment. "Shut up, you little brat," Shiro growled, straightening and spinning around to face Lotor. "C'mon, angel face. The religious section is that way. Put the mops back in there and shut the door."

The boy snickered behind Shiro, but didn't say anything.

Shiro moved over to Lotor, a little lightheaded from both the sensory overload and from the two-bodied teleportation done in broad daylight. His steps were a little wobbly, hand meeting Lotor's shoulder to try and steady himself. "Humans are awful," he panted weakly, sniffing and wiping his hot eyes. "Fuck. That smells so bad. Shut the door already."

 

Lotor complied, sending the child a glare. Malice- that was a new feeling. It was vile and irritating and made a burst of anger swell up in the pit of his stomach.

"Tell me," he said to the boy in a fond voice as he closed the door to the closet. "Would anyone be proud of such a disgusting little boy?" His words were sharp, each like a little jab. Just the same way he was able to lift spirits with simple compliments, insults resulted in the opposite effect. He could see the boys eyes widened and he kicked the ground a little. "Not only was such a question sickeningly vulgar and inappropriate but I can imagine that your family wouldn't be happy to know that their child was asking total strangers about sex." He brushed himself off a little, shifting Shiro's hand from his shoulder after a moment. He took a step toward the child, kneeling down to be closer to his height. "Get out of my sight. I don't want to hear another word from you."

He watched as the kid, wide eyed, turned and began to walk away from them. He waited until he'd rounded a corner and was out of sight to stand up and face Shiro.

"Sorry, where was the religious section? I wasn't paying attention." He got to his feet and turned his attention fully back to Shiro, not seeming fazed by anything that had just happened.

Shiro snorted, looking at Lotor with a sly sort of smirk. He raised a hand to point. "Right over there, Mr. Do-No-Wrong," he said with a nod and a laugh while Lotor only rolled his eyes. "There's a mythical section and a religious section. I'll cover mythical, you cover religious. We're looking for anything you can find on fallen angels."

He took his hand from Lotor's shoulder and brushed himself off, wincing a little at the lingering scent of Pine-sol and disinfectant. "So much for popping in here unnoticed," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Shiro gave Lotor a look, raising up his brow. "If that kid's dad comes by to beat me up, I'm blaming you." With that, Shiro started off towards the mythical section, shaking his head bitterly despite the smirk that curled at his lips.

"If that kids father comes to attack you, flash him a pointy grin and show him your horns and he'll go running," Lotor muttered as he followed him to the mythical section. "I'll do my research here. You can look at religion."

Shiro rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just figured you'd be more comfortable with all the Bibles and crosses and shit," he muttered raising his shoulders. Shiro shook his head and stalked off to his section, grumbling under his breath. "Its like he keeps forgetting I'm a fucking demon..."

Lotor turned away after a moment, gaze fixing on the many shelves before him. He searched for anything to do with angels and eventually even plucked out an A-Z on fictional creatures before moving to the seating area. When given the option between sitting at a table and settling with a dozen beanbags, Lotor chose the latter and began to read, now searching for any specific info on fallen angels. Any books that had information would be set to one side, open on the necessary page. Any that didn't were left in a pile opposite to be put back. The pile of books with was significantly smaller than the pile of books without. This didn't seem like it was a very optimistic situation.

Shiro slipped out a handful of books about angels -- things like guides to guardian angels, poem books about angels, history on archangels -- but he steered clear of any sort of Bible. He disregarded books with crosses and he certainly didn't want anything to do with the rosary bookmarks that hung over some of the thicker books spines, each holy bead just taunting him whenever he'd get close. Shiro lugged his books over to where Lotor was sitting, dropping them down upon the table with a heavy slap of sound that left heads turning. He plopped down into his seat and snatched the top one down, flipping it open and skimming through the index as he searched for anything that could be useful.

"You wouldn't happen to have, like, a How To be an Angel Handbook For Dummies, would you?" Shiro said in a snickered tone as he flipped through the pages. He was interested in a chapter titled The Fall of Lucifer, for obvious reasons of course, and began loosely running his eyes down the grainy paper. He was reading a story he knew by heart, of course, but he still thumbed through the information in case he had missed something... "Wouldn't it be cool if you became, like, the next lucifer? I mean, this book kinda has some of the facts wrong, but he was kind of a fallen angel after all. Not because he made a deal with a demon or whatever -- nah he was a little worse off. But still. Me helping the future prince of Hell would probably score me some royalty points downstairs, yeah?"

Lotor's eyes fixed on Shiro for a few long moments before he nodded. "Yes," he nodded reluctantly. "How very cool it would be if I became the next embodiment of evil." He kept his eyes on Shiro, letting out a quiet and tired sigh as he picked up the first book that he had yet to read. He skimmed over the section of fallen angels- but all that it did was give basic information that was almost identical in each book. Some would provide new factors of conflicting magic and unfathomable power and one mentioned having new capabilities but none went into the specifics. Eventually he had set aside each of the gathered books without any further knowledge on the subject that he was supposed to be researching.

"This is beginning to get tiresome," he remarked idly as he lay back against the seat, the low rustling of the beanbag preserving his dignity marvellously. "Everything that I find repeats the same dull drivel about betraying the angels and rejecting the teachings of the Lord or similar shit that I fail to understand. I did not reject the teachings or betray anyone and yet here I stand- torn down from my podium and rejected from the Lord's ever forgiving light."

Shiro gave an uninterested sort of sound, already reading and absorbed in his third book. "Maybe that means you're not entirely rejected yet?" he said in a lazy hum, turning the page. "I mean, by what I'm seeing you only kinda broke some of the rules. Taking black magic is a sin, but you were doing it to save your life -- and self preservation is encouraged in your guys's afterlife. Making a deal with a demon is a sin, but you were doing it to save the life of a human -- and saving humans is your big purpose or whatever. I keep reading that it's fine to commit sin as long as you repent and you know it's wrong, and you probably know for sure I'm all sorts of wrong..."

He set down the book, and looked up to face Lotor. "Think about it," he said, cocking his head. "You've still got most of your wings. You've got your weird mind powers. I still smell some angel in whatever funky mix you have going on. I still feel like I'm touching a light bulb or a battery whenever we touch hands. Maybe you're... maybe you're not totally fallen yet. Just like... falling. They might just be a little more forgiving then they make it out to be, huh?"

"Falling," he mused, eyes falling upon the image of the fallen angel brandished in the book before him. A pitiful, tormented soul with their wings clipped. He sent a glance to the masked wings upon his back.

He'd only lost one. It was... it was possible that he hadn't been entirely exiled just yet.

"You can suggest that to me, but I'm beyond redemption. Even if not too far gone to never be welcomed back- you should have heard what they had said. Their malicious whispers that they didn't think I could hear, the mutterings behind closed doors... The way the Guardian dug her spear into my skin and threatened me against returning. You may insist that I'm 'falling' all that you want, but that place never was and never will be my home. I was naive to think otherwise." He closed the book, letting out a quiet and frustrated curse. "Perhaps we should return. Get some rest and return for another attempt tomorrow, hm?"

Shiro looked at Lotor for a moment, raising up his brow at Lotor's fervent denial. "Sure," he said in a slow drawl, snapping his book to a close. Shiro pushed up, leaving his mess of books scattered about his bean bag and encouraging Lotor to to the same with an impatient nod as he began walking to the door, stretching out his back as he walked his lazy way through the library. He stopped at the front door, turning to look at Lotor as the sort-of-angel caught up. He jutted a thumb towards the door, sighing gently.

"We're gonna walk," he said, no room for question in his tone. Shiro reached over and pulled the door open, breathing in a gust of fresh air and smiling lightly at the taste. "I need to clear out some of that cleaning stuff from my system. A nice walk should do the trick." Shiro slipped out and held the door for Lotor, closing it behind him when the watchful angel stepped his way out. "Be quiet and leave me alone. I want to enjoy some nature."

The library was located near a local park. It wasn't the park Lance and Keith met at that one fateful night that seemed oh so long ago, but a much nicer one. One with less paved pathways and more dirt ones. One with a little patch of woodlands only interrupted by bikers. One with a quaint little pond that held a family and a new wave of tadpoles of ducks Shiro always secretly enjoyed to go watch. Shiro started towards it quickly, not waiting for Lotor as he strode forward with his hands in his pockets, head tilted up just slightly as he invited the scents around him.

Once his shoes hit the grass Shiro instantly felt calmer than before. He turned off the starting pathway of one of the park routes, and made his curious way out into a little field instead. Luckily, because of the storm the night before and because of the heavy clouds up above all dark with the heavens' threatening, there weren't any picnic blankets or stupid humans playing frisbee upon that nice, lush field Shiro stepped about. He was alone, aside from Lotor trailing behind him like a lost dog. It was a nice feeling.

Once he found a nice spot, Shiro plopped down into the ground, folding his legs up to sit nice and cross-legged against the wet grass. He leaned back, dragging his hands about the ground in search of something fun to play with. His magic reached out, and, to his joy, a little beetle climbed out from the ground and ran over his fingers. Shiro scooped it up quick, watching the small, gold-green thing climb up and down his wrist with his teasing fingers. He tried to ignore Lotor staring at him for a while, just focusing on his new little friend, but soon enough was enough and Shiro had to turn his gaze up to the creature who watched him.

"It's rude to stare," he quipped, narrowing his eyes. "Sit down or something. You're making me feel like I'm being observed."

"I wouldn't be here if I had the choice," he noted as he settled beside Shiro. "I don't know the way back to the warehouse and I don't have enough energy to go there alone." He kept his gaze on the tranquil atmosphere of the park, studying the forest opposite and looking through the trees for something to steal his attention. Shiro may appreciate the calm atmosphere and the emptiness, but Lotor had been so idle recently due to his heavenly fiasco.

He wouldn't interrupt the moments of peace Shiro got- it was rare to see a demon genuinely enjoying himself or even relaxing. Why would he disturb Shiro's peace?

"Our library trip was pointless. I'm no better educated about my current condition than I was before the visit. It seems like nothing will come from this."

Shiro sighed. "I gave you a theory, at least," he muttered, reaching up his hand so the beetle's shell could catch the light and shimmer. Shiro cocked his head as he watched the colors dance upon the holo green of the strange little fella. "It didn't help that you read, like, a book and a half. I was nearly to my fourth when you wanted to quit. Not my fault you can't read well. I'll just go by myself next time."

He went quiet for a moment or so, just watching his beetle and trying to block out Lotor in his peripheral. With another sigh, he set the beetle down into the grass, watching it scuttle away until he couldn't keep his eye on it anymore. Shiro reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, his faint, curious smile easing back down into his usual frown of overall discontentment. "We could just go to the warehouse if you want," Shiro muttered, looking around the field. He could teleport Lotor back but the sun was still high, and a two bodied teleportation would make him a little too tired to just come back. "It'll be dark in a few hours, anyways. I should rest up for tonight..." Pouting a little, Shiro ran his hand over some blades of wet grass, letting them tickle his toughened palms and fingers. "I guess we could go back."

"If you're so insistent on being better at reading, tell me how to get to the warehouse and return to the library until it closes." He got to his feet, gritting his teeth a little. Something about Shiro's tone or his behaviour was irritating him. He wasn't used to having things getting under his skin- much less something as idle as Shiro's tone or demeanour.

"I'm not a job or a responsibility for you so I don't expect to be supervised consistently. You're not a governess or a baby-sitter or anyone who should feel authorised to look after me, the same way that I am not a child to be supervised. I wish to return to the warehouse so I can continue practicing with my energy and learning how to manage it without inconveniencing you or your reading." The issue wasn't even that Lotor hadn't been capable of reading- he was a gifted child when it came to reading and spent all of his time reading instead of training much to his father's distaste, but he had been reading in Latin more often than English and even then, the English language has developed overwhelmingly over the last few years. That was what made it difficult.

Shiro felt the sudden tranquility of his mood falter almost instantly at Lotor's tone. "Forgive me for even pretending to care then," he muttered, standing up slowly. He brushed himself off, scowling darkly as he looked up at Lotor, his hands running smoothly down his tighter suit as he flicked off pieces of wet grass or leaves. "If you want a map, go to fucking city hall. Ain't my responsibility to tell you where everything is." He mocked Lotor's voice at the word responsibility, really driving in the accent. His hand reached over to grab hold of Lotor's arm, clenching tight when the angel began to flinch back.

"In case you forgot," Shiro said in a low tone as the magic gathered together around them. "You are mine. I'm allowed to do what I want with you. If I wanna babysit, then maybe I fuckin' will." Hm. That sounded a little better in his head. Shiro pretended not to notice how not-threatening the little statement had been and continued on, unphased. "Don't complain again. You'll regret it."

Lotor bared his teeth to argue or retaliate but in an instant they were back at the warehouse, and Shiro wrenched his hand away, growling a little as he turned on his heel and began to stalk away. "I'll be the basement," he muttered angrily as he stomped off, a little lightheaded from the magic. "Don't wake me up. I'll be sleeping in that heater I told you about until nightfall. Don't fuck anything up while I'm gone."

"I won't," came Lotor's voice in a delicate whisper, his arm bruising from where Shiro had grabbed him. It brought unpleasant memories back so he just... stayed quiet aside from the idle submission.

With that, Shiro used just a little bit more power to just teleport himself down for both dramatic effect and disliking of the walk there with all its silver machinery. Why Lotor had suddenly sparked his nerves like that... Shiro didn't know. He was an ungrateful prick... that's all it was. All Shiro was trying to do was help... right? That's what he was doing? Offering suggestions, taking him out of the stuffy warehouse to see the nature or whatever... that was helpful, wasn't it? Fuck, he didn't care. Tired, angry, and a little shaky from the unnecessary little teleportation, Shiro pulled open the old heater, and crawled his way inside, sighing deeply once he settled himself upon his comfortable nest of blankets. His hand reached out and pulled the door closed, slamming it almost like he thought Lotor could see and feel hurt by the gesture.

"Fuck that guy," he muttered to himself, turning onto his side and bringing his legs up to his chest. He wished Atlas was there so he wouldn't just be talking to himself... but she was probably off killing something or whatever. "Maybe I'll send him to Hell a little earlier..."

"Fucking asshole..."

Atlas, in fact, wasn't off killing something. She'd curled up around Lotor on Shiro's bed, taking up all of it. He leant against her, face hidden in the fur around her neck. She just lay there, sniffing at him to adjust to the new scent. Lotor's eyes burned with tears and his arm seemed to sting more and more by the second. How disgusting emotions were, overwhelming and attacking him and forcing him to relive such sickening memories that he never wanted to move from the comfort of Atlas's warmth and soft fur.

Lotor soon slid off his shirt, letting it disappear the second he was no longer touching it. The skin around where Shiro had grabbed him had bruised and blackened, little indents left from where Shiro's nails had been digging in. He brushed over them with an unsightly talon, a quiet noise of pain escaping him as the same inky blood as he'd coughed up days before began to poison his veins. He could see it through his skin- the way the ebony poisoned him under his skin. The 'infection' didn't run for more than a few centimetres but that didn't make it any less worrying.

A few moments passed where he just studied it, feeling the dull aching pain that it provided. With a dull reminder to himself that he had endured worse than a blemish like that, he settled back down against Atlas. Unconscious within minutes.


	13. An Angel's Tears

Two days had passed. Two nights had passed as well. Nights of Shiro's chaos in that poor forest -- nights where he uprooted trees and killed fields upon fields of plants and killed all sorts of wildlife and drank all sorts of their blood. He hadn't anticipated going feral three nights in a row -- it only happened on particularly powerful New Moons... or whenever he was particularly upset or angry. Shiro guessed it had been the latter based on those two days of awkwardly repressed tension between the two.

He slept to avoid Lotor. When he would wake to go play with Atlas or to sit outside and watch the forest, Lotor would approach to try and make conversation, and Shiro would snap rather harshly in response to try and encourage him to go away. He bared his teeth and growled more often. He brought back the old nicknames -- he only used feathers sparingly due to the raw feelings Lotor still had about that bloody wing of his. Shiro couldn't tell if his tensioned feelings towards the sort-of-angel were a territorial thing or just a feelings thing, but he was sure it was rather overwhelming whenever Lotor would even enter the room.

It was midday, and Shiro laid atop the roof of his warehouse, stretched out under the sun and resting off his long New Moon. He almost felt hungover from all the power. It still thrummed weakly inside of him, but it certainly wasn't as bad as the three nights prior. It just felt comfortable. Not underwhelming and not overwhelming... just a nice buzz of magic that left him confident yet mindful.

Shiro reached his arms up and folded them under his head, giving a long sigh to himself as he tried to relax a little more. For a demon of darkness, he sure did enjoy the feeling of that sun beating down on him. It felt nice against his skin, warming up his cold-blooded demon body up to just the perfect temperature. The sweet smelling wind gusted lightly over his body, running over his shirtless torso, brushing against his burning scars with its cool, gentle touch. The forest whispered to his left, leaves rustling in the breeze. The town bustled to his left, not as nice as the nature but still a bit grounding as he laid there, listening to the sounds of life around him. He didn't know where Lotor was but he couldn't find the mind to care... he just wanted to be alone and comfortable with the sun and the wind and the smell of nature.

"I've been looking for you," came Lotor's voice. He'd made no effort to hide his form this time. His wing was healing well and his hair was starting to grow out- slowly, of course, but it was an overwhelming relief to Lotor to notice even a millimetre of growth. Perhaps someday he'd have it back to full length again? He could hope so, as as unlikely as it seemed. He approached, sitting down with his knees to his chest about a metre away from Shiro. A safe distance, he'd realised a few days prior when he'd found himself just out of range of a punch and too far for Shiro to pick up on his scent. He'd made frequent remarks recently about the vile scent.

 

Lotor's eyes drifted from the scenery in front of him to the gorgeous view sitting beside him. He'd recently realised that without his mental block against any and all sexual- impure- thoughts, he'd been viewing Shiro very different. He hadn't intended to, of course, as he would always try to shut down anything he thought about Shiro before it could be exploited but that didn't stop him from coming up with new thoughts, new ideas, new sinful or impure things that he could only crave for a few seconds before he'd repress the idea.

"You've been avoiding me." He wasn't sure whether or not to say it for a few minutes. The silence settled between them was uncomfortable and awkward but Lotor would rather silence than being abused for saying the wrong thing. Shiro had only retaliated with violence once- when he'd grabbed his arm- but that definitely didn't stop it from happening again. Lotor wished he'd reacted a little more aggressively instead of letting himself be pushed down but if he placed one hand over his heart he could feel the dull tugging of his chains. That was more than enough to remind him why he'd been so weak.

He'd rather pin the blame on some naive deal he'd made than accept the thought that the trauma was affecting him again. He'd been promised upon arrival in the heavens that all painful memories would lose their effect. That he'd no longer be humiliated or hurt or angered by past events but now... now it all came back. Now he could feel the primal fear that flooded him when his father spoke his name. Now he could feel his blood run cold when he was insulted or degraded in company. He could feel the painful ache of betrayal from memories that were just out of reach for him but still so vividly there and still so painful. He was only hoping that Shiro wouldn't do anything else to trigger those memories.

"I have," Shiro mumbled bluntly, sighing. He kept his eyes closed, his head turned up towards the sky. Only for a moment did he concern himself with the idea that he'd been half naked... but he figured Lotor didn't care. The pretentious little prick probably only thought him and his gnarled, violent scars were disgusting... but that wasn't anything new. "I like to be alone. I thought you'd realize that by now."

Shiro gave a deep, long sigh, and then pushed himself off from the warm roof, watching Lotor with a tired sort of stare. "Why seek me out if you know I'm ignoring you?" he asked, cocking his head. "Do you need anything? I'm feeling a little drained today. Won't be a lot of zipping or zapping around."

"No, I don't want anything. I sought you because you made a deal with me to attain full control over me and yet... you just ignore me. You keep your distance and you insult me or hurt me whenever I'm near. You have plenty to do whenever you want but I have nothing. My only source of entertainment is you and Atlas and when you leave, so does she. It grows tiresome to be alone with each passing second of solitude. You may like to be alone, but I do not. Not when there is nothing else for me to do but wait for you to return." Lotor's gaze stayed on Shiro, flickering from his face to his torso frequently. The scars weren't entirely appealing, yes, but with his hold on the heaven's fading more and more with each passing second, Lotor had noticed some of his own had returned.

The holy land. The reward you get for behaving perfectly for all of your life is built up on illusions and a thin line of prejudice. You will either submit and kneel, believe that your imperfections are gone and healed, hate demons simply for failing the holy words and becoming demons or you will join them. There isn't a middle ground. Lotor had considered himself to be in the middle ground when he was first given the punishment but... but it wasn't true. He was just being dangled on a string like bait, slowly lowered down from the heavens to a the mouth of the devil, who snapped and hissed and waited with sharp teeth and a forked tongue to be fed.

"What do you expect? I had no reason to engage with you when I was an angel and had plenty to do. When I was capable and dexterous and felt safe. Now I'd be hunted. If human's saw my true form I would be slaughtered for science and stuffed for a museum and without any of my abilities to defend myself, who would I be to stop them? Angels would sooner force me into binds and witness my torment than they would help me. If I were to give in and go to hell, I would be mocked for failing to be an angel as well as everything else I would endure. Tell me, Shiro, what more do you expect from a disgraced angel to pursue the one stable thing it has? If you want to get rid of me once and for all, take my soul to condemn me to hell. Perhaps then I won't bother you."

Shiro watched him, quiet. "Alright, Mr. Doom and Gloom," he muttered, shaking his head, a little dumbfounded at Lotor's sudden dramatic rambling. "Look, buddy, you don't have to go on and on about how awful your life is, alright? If you're trying to make me feel guilty, it's working. You can cut it out." Lotor mumbled 'I wasn't trying to' as he averted his gaze.

Shiro gave a long sigh straightened up a little more, reaching his arms up into a stretch high up over his head, fingers linked and palms facing the sky. Shiro gave a soft grunt, and then released the tension of his stretch, instead puting one of his hands behind his neck to rub at a gentle crick. "So you're bored? Been stirring in your own misery for too long? Is that why you're so dramatic?" he asked, cocking his head. "You've been a sort-of-angel for like four days and you're already cracking. Come on, man. You can do better than that." Shiro dropped both hands down at his side, slouching his shoulders a little.   
"So what do you suggest we do? You wanna go out or something?" His questions, despite his previous bitter joking, were now genuine. "We could go for a walk... or kick some rocks into a pond... or go hunt for cool bugs... or... uh..." Shiro trailed off, thinking. He turned his head up to look at Lotor. "What do you do for fun? Something simple, please. I'm a little tired."

Lotor couldn't really figure out what to say. His eyes were fixed on Shiro, currently mapping out the scars along his chest. The sinful thoughts were incessant now, and each time he rejected one another would take it's place. When it finally processed that Shiro had been speaking to him- and looking at him- Lotor's gaze locked with Shiro's and he quickly stood.

"I shouldn't have come out here," he announced, quick to start back to the warehouse, slipping down the ladder so that he could have a cooldown period. He was too flustered for his own good. What was he supposed to do? Stay with Shiro until he was so desperate to appease his insatiable thoughts that he slipped up and said or did the wrong thing? He'd rather hide away like a coward, curled up in Shiro's room.

He hadn't been sleeping there recently, anyway- thought that was because Lotor had taken residence. There was no harm in staying in his bed. There was no harm in curling up under the bedsheets, cursing himself for such impure thoughts that he definitely shouldn't be entertaining, much less accepting. Of course, there was no harm in accepting these thoughts and learning to tolerate them in a way that wasn't getting flustered and uncomfortably warm. The harm was only in confessing to Shiro that he was having difficulty dealing with this. He didn't understand how Shiro endured this. He didn't understand how humans endured it. Did they just deal with such erotic thoughts and let them pass by? Did they shame themselves until there was no room for them?

Did they entertain them? Allow them to play out, develop them, perhaps even act upon them? Acting on such thoughts, allowing it to reflect in his behaviour- Lotor almost shuddered at the thought but he had been craving some form of sexual gratification. Was it unreasonable for him to act on these desires? It was selfish, yes, and unwelcome from an angel's perspective but Lotor was no longer an angel and he'd been denying himself for days or weeks now. And his thoughts kept drifting back to Shiro's toned chest and his slashed scars and the way the golden sunlight basked his body in heavenly lighting like he were dipped in gold...

And being selfish for a little while didn't seem so bad.

"Lotor?"

Shiro was standing a few feet from the bed, hands on his hips, head cocked at the form curled up beneath the blanket. He moved forward a little, crouching down beside the mattress and reaching a hand to nervously prod Lotor's shoulder. "You okay, buddy?" he asked gently, frowning. "Was it something I said? I don't really think I said anything that bad... unless angels can only have fun in heaven. In that case, sorry that might have stung. I didn't know."

He leaned back, plopping down so he sat on the floor. Atlas padded up behind him, sitting down beside him and laying a long, slobbery kiss on the side of Shiro's face. He groaned and pushed her away, laughing a little as he wiped the drool from his cheek. Shiro turned back to Lotor, who was still silent and covered by the sheets, and frowned again, tilting his head to the side.

"Collecting bugs ain't that bad," he said weakly, shrugging. He hoped he didn't hurt Lotor too badly over any of that heaven mess... he couldn't forget how much of a mess the creature had been the night he was casted away. Shiro was sure the feelings were still raw... dick or not, Shiro still felt bad for him. "There's some real pretty ones if you look hard enough-"

"It's an angel thing!" Lotor announced suddenly, still concealed under the blankets for another few moments. When he did finally sit up, he had his knees to his chest to keep himself covered. For... quite obvious reasons. "You didn't say anything wrong. I- I appreciated what you said, Shiro, I truly did but- I can't quite explain it." Actually, he could explain it quite easily if it wasn't so damn humiliating. It didn't help that he didn't know the words for these things- he didn't know he was feeling aroused. He didn't know the slang term horny, which was why Shiro's remark during one of their earlier meetings went over his head. He didn't know why his skin tingled or his face flushed or anything. All he knew was that Shiro sitting beside him, still shirtless, so confusingly considerate- it was all too overwhelming for Lotor's beating heart.

He kept his eyes off of Shiro as best as he could. He didn't want to see his chiselled fucking body or his perfect jawline or those lips he hated to think of kissing or the teeth he definitely didn't want anywhere near his neck or the tongue that he despised to think of having drag along his skin. He didn't even want to hear that smooth voice as it purred his name and praised or degraded him. And god knows that he didn't want to see the nails he imagined digging into his skin and grazing along his chest.

A new wave of heat flushed through him and he had to fight the urge to curl up under the blanket again, a soft curse escaping him.

Shiro looked at him a few moments, observing the red of his face and the not-so-hidden averting of his eyes. Shiro looked down at himself, and then back up to Lotor, all the color draining from his system as everything finally clicked. "Oh," he said, voice a little dry. "Fuck."

Despite being tired, Shiro whisked his hand and summoned a shirt. A loose, long sleeved, black tee that covered him properly appeared, its magical occurence making Shiro's head spin a little, some odd colors flashing before his eyes as his system grounded itself. He reached a hand up to rub his temple, and shook his head a little, the color returning and flushing a few shades too brightly for his liking.

"You're feeling horny, aren't you?" Shiro asked, blunt but sheepish as he spoke. "I guess whatever stopped you from getting aroused is gone... Fuck. That must suck. Going thousands of years without getting anything good and then you're suddenly hit with it. If you want I'll get you some porn and leave you alone for a bit..." An image of Lotor that Shiro couldn't stop flashed through his head, and Shiro instantly cringed, trying to shove the thought of the sort-of-angel pleasing himself out of his head. "Don't worry about it, man. If, uh, if anyone understands the problem of lust, it's a demon. We get the worst of all seven sins -- and lust is the big one."

Lotor shook his head a little. "No, no I- I don't need to do anything. I don't want to see anything so... so graphic," he said as he let out a slightly shaky breath. "Just a few moments to recover. I've been able to neglect it for a few weeks now. When I'm used to it, I'll be able to ignore it like nothing's wrong. Trust me."

 

Absolute shit. All of it. Not a word of that was true- except his refusal for porn. He didn't need that, but god knows he needed to relieve himself of this overwhelming tension. He didn't need a few moments to recover and he'd not be able to ignore it no matter how used to it he got.

 

"I'll be okay," he insisted- more to himself than to Shiro, hugging his knees to his chest to try and soothe the overwhelming urge he had to touch himself. He had to save it. He couldn't suddenly indulge in these impulses and desires. He wasn't going to submit himself to all of his cravings. No matter how curious he was or how desperately his body ached for at least a little relief. No matter how warm his body got or how uncomfortable he felt. "Shit, it's uncomfortable! What, and you just deal with it? You just pleasure yourself and move on as if it were nothing? How foreign your culture is. So much more free than that of an angel. Having a single impure thought can lead to hours of praying for forgiveness and yet you all just treat it like a regular occurence?" How he envied such freedom. How badly he yearned for and craved this pleasure.

Pleasure that he refused to give himself because of the teachings of those who rejected him. Considering it, it wasn't ideal. It was a punishment worse than having his halo broken. It was worse than being sent to earth- being left to fend for himself with human impulses and being vulnerable to all kinds of sensations he had never felt before.

Shiro shrugged a little. "Yeah, you just kinda deal with it," he muttered, shrugging his shoulders up a bit. "You, uh, masterbate or you have sex. Easy as that..."

There was an instant where Shiro contemplated offering his own help -- it seemed like the most logical thing to do in that situation. But then the absurdness of the idea took hold of him and Shiro instantly blushed at the very thought of him even considering such a horrid thing. Shiro just shut his mouth and looked off to the side, reaching a hand up to rub his arm as he thought about it.

"Alright, well, I'm going out," he muttered, standing up and brushing himself off. "Just gonna go walk in the forest. Remember you have the little talisman if you need me."

He looked down at Lotor, frowning a little. "If, uh, you do decided to, uhm, take care of yourself, just clean up, alright?" Shiro snickered a little, figuring taking it as a joke would help ease some of his own tension. "Don't want the place smelling like that at all, haha."

Lotor nodded, not moving from his awkwardly huddled position as he sent a slight glance to Shiro.

"Yeah, will do," he promised, shifting a little and gritting his teeth at the friction that caused. He took the item from around his neck to set down on the cushion beside him, nodding again as if to remind himself that he had the option to call Shiro and that he could call him if he needed him. It was a pretty tempting offer. The silence set in and it was only a matter of moments before Lotor was alone again, hesitantly relaxing and breaking out of his curled up form. The obvious little tent in his pants was still there and making itself known and Lotor wanted to curse his body and himself for its natural functions.

His hands were trembling as he began to fumble with undoing his pants. Just unbuttoning and slowly tugging at the zip and he was getting far too flustered. How could he do this? He wanted to remain and angel and doing something like this wasn't going to help his case but he wasn't sure if he had been outcast already or not. It would make this ordeal easier to consider if he assumed he was unwelcome.  
"Shit-!" he breathed as he finally got the restraining fabric pulled down enough, a little relieved just from no longer having so much pressure on such a sensitive part.

He tried not to think of Shiro as he hooked his thumb around the hem of his boxers, beginning to tug them down. His breathing was uneven and he couldn't help but avert his eyes for his own modesty. How pathetic a sight he must have been- and he couldn't even imagine how Shiro would have done this just casually. Consistently. Oh, it was hard to believe.

But now his thoughts were latched onto Shiro. No matter how he tried to contain his thoughts it was that much more difficult to keep them subdued when he was already so riled up. He was smothered with memories and images- seeing Shiro shirtless, the smug little grin that graced his lips, the edge to his voice when he was being malicious and the little hints of something sweet when he was being kind. How his eyes stared or glared or followed him, how smooth his voice sounded when it was just a low purr- god, even thinking of these things made it feel like he was inviting in his sin but he couldn't bring himself to deny it.

He hadn't even begun to consider the smooth contours of Shiro's chest. The scars that slid along his skin, scattered but frequent. Dragged along his muscles, over smooth contours of his handsome body. He couldn't deny himself of this need that he had but each attempt to touch himself and he would grow too ashamed, too flustered, and stop himself- even as his thoughts lingered on the glimpse of the shirtless Shiro he'd gotten to see earlier that day. The toned muscles of his v-line as they dipped into his pants, the way he looked like a perfectly made sculpture, the small grin that had been on his lips when he'd stretched and accidentally shown himself off a little more to unwillingly prying eyes.

And Lotor hadn't quite realised that he had the talisman in hand until he'd pierced the skin of his forearm with a sharp talon and let the first drop of iridescent blood land on it to summon the demon.

Shiro felt the call just as he arrived at the pond, his eyes shooting open and his whole body going tense at the sharp tug that wrenched at his presence. He held it off for a moment or so, angry and bitter about being summoned just as he had gotten to see the shimmering pool of the forest pond, but soon the pulling became too much and Shiro submitted to it, letting the powerful lead of the talisman just teleport him into the warehouse. He closed his eyes, and felt his feet hit the solid concrete with a gentle buckling of his knees. The sweet, fresh air of the outdoors was stifled by the damp air of the warehouse, causing Shiro to release a bitter sigh as he fluttered open his eyes.

"Lotor what did you- woah!"

He spun around quickly, both hands flying to his eyes. Shiro's body lit up with a blush, his skin going boiling hot as Lotor's... as Lotor's dick implanted itself in his mind. "What the fuck, Lotor?!" he cried, rising up his shoulders. Shiro squeezed his eyes tight, trying to keep the image from flashing in his brain. It didn't work. Shiro grit his teeth, and shook his head. "Give a guy some warning! I was so not prepared for that..."

There was a moment or so of tension before Shiro gathered together his shock, and began to turn around again, eyes still closed. His hands were curled into fists at his sides, bottom lip being worked between his teeth as he tried to work out what to do or what to say. He tried to keep from thinking about Lotor and his fucking boner... the sight made a spark of something hot and familiar flicker in Shiro's lower stomach but hell no -- he was going to ignore that spark no matter what it took.

"I'm guessing," Shiro started off slowly, his words strained as he tried to pull himself together. "You want help. With... that."

"I can't do it," he managed to confess despite how the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. "I can't do it. And I can't demand your help but I'd appreciate it." He sent a glance to Shiro, having awkwardly begun covering himself up when he heard Shiro's cry. He would have given him a warning but he didn't exactly realise that he'd called for him in the first place. His own face was an incredibly dark colour, heat having risen from his cheeks and washing over him in a show of both humiliation and undeniable arousal.

He turned his gaze to Shiro, too shocked at what was going on to process that he was asking a demon for help with his boner. This situation had been absurd from the second Shiro had tried to appease Lotor or satisfy his worries- much more when arousal had become an issue and he'd been regarding Shiro as attractive.

"Shit," he breathed, leant back against the headboard. How had it gotten to this? How had he let his desires get so insatiable and incessant that he could barely even look at Shiro without feeling hot under the collar.

Shiro shook his head a little, fluttering his eyes open a bit nervously and peering down at Lotor on the bed. "Fuck, Lotor... it's..." he trailed off hopelessly, too flustered for his own good. But why? He was a fucking demon for Heaven and Hell's sake. He was supposed to be all over that sort of stuff -- all over teasing and degrading Lotor's slutty needs just because it would make the creature all the more miserable. But why couldn't he even think about doing that to him? He hated Lotor! He loathed Lotor! What was the deal?

"It's alright," Shiro sighed, trying his best to keep from sounding aggravated. He moved forwards slowly, easing down on his knees before Lotor on the bed, his eyes running up and down the blushy angel before him...

Dirty thoughts flickered in his head. Dirty thoughts of that flushed face pinned beneath him at his own mercy. Dirty thoughts about Lotor's hands gripping at his arms and his talons digging into his flesh from just raw pleasure. Dirty thoughts about what Lotor's moans sounded like or how good Shiro's name would sound the moment it would roll of Lotor's lips once he brought the angel to his climax...

Shiro's breath shuddered, and he closed his eyes again, shaking his head fast. "It's alright," he said again through gritted teeth. "I'll help you. I'm not... I'm not going to fuck you or anything, but I'll help."

The word tasted so alluring on Shiro's tongue though... Shiro shook his head again.

"Let me see," he said softly, opening up his eyes to meet Lotor's. "I'll give you a blowjob or something. Just this once though. Next time, I'm not helping."

Lotor nodded, deciding not to mention that he had no idea what a blowjob was and instead just to be grateful that he was getting help. A second after his eyes had met Shiro's, his gaze fixed on the wall opposite, just trying to avoid looking down at the handsome demon between his legs or the issue that desperately needed Shiro's attention. Shiro watched Lotor nod, and began to lean down, one hand reaching up to hold Lotor's right thigh.

His breathing was already uneven just at the thought alone of getting some kind of relief. Something that he so clearly craved. His gaze slowly drifted back to Shiro, to his handsome face with those perfect features and the hot breath that tingled the skin on his thighs. He was so desperate it was almost demeaning- and feeling Shiro's hand settle on his thigh was almost enough to draw a noise from between his lips.

Shiro gave a deep breath, pausing to mentally prepare himself for what he was going to do. "Just relax," he said quietly, speaking for himself as much as he was speaking for Lotor. "This will be over in a second..."

He closed his eyes, and opened his mouth, leaning forward towards Lotor's member. He ran his tongue along the underside, stopping when he heard Lotor's breath hitch and feel his whole body go tense at the contact. Shiro hesitated, waiting for Lotor to say something... but when the words never came, Shiro went along with it, slow and cautious. He tried not to think about who's dick he was currently slipping between his lips as he moved forward, massaging the hard length with his tongue as he took it in his mouth.

It had been a while since he did anything like that... sure, Shiro would go to the strip club or meet some human online to please him, but normally he was never the one on his knees. He knew what he was doing, of course, and he was sure Lotor didn't care whether or not it was the best blowjob in the history of sex, but Shiro still thought about it anyways as he continued, his grip on Lotor's thigh tightening as he continued on and his own arousal began to warm his gut at those sounds Lotor began to make at the contact.

Lotor's hands worked their way into Shiro's hair, gripping to his locks. His back arched as he held onto him, one hand clutching to the sheets on the mattress. His body was aching, his member throbbing as he felt the warm mouth wrapping around his length, sending waves of overwhelming pleasure through his body. The foreign warmth, the intensity of the tongue running along his length or the wet mouth around his member was already drawing loud moans from his lips as he tried to stifle them.

He tried to bear Shiro's words in his mind- the soft murmur of 'just relax' running through his head as he tried to relieve his body of the tension plaguing him. His breathing was shallow and quick, his eyes closed to bask himself in the sensations. He tried to indulge in the sensations Shiro was merciful enough to provide him with.

"A-Ah-! Shiro-!" He wailed, his back arched and his body so submissive to every little inkling of pleasure. Every little touch every flick of his tongue every low rumble that escaped Shiro's throat that seemed to overwhelm him all over again. "Shiro! Shiro!"

He was choked up on his own moans, bucking his hips after a second to bury himself deeper in Shiro's mouth. His body was weak and his desperation was strong. His head was swimming. His member was twitching and throbbing, just aching. His tip was already beginning to leak inside Shiro's mouth. He was a matter of seconds away from climaxing- god knows that he was too sensitive to endure more than a minute or so of this stimulation. That was the consequence of abstinence for three millenia.

Shiro groaned at the feeling of Lotor's fingers pulling at his hair, his eyes rolling a bit beneath his fluttering lids at the twitching of Lotor's length and the desperation of Lotor's thrusts. Drool slipped down his chin from the corners of his lips, the muscles of his throat and tongue only beginning to grow tired as he worked at Lotor's sensitive member, both hands on each of Lotor's thighs and holding them tightly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh and sweaty, twitchy skin. They had only been going for maybe a minute or so before he tasted something new upon his tongue, the taste making him groan again, his fingers clenching tighter, claws inspiring pinpricks of warm blood from Lotor's legs.

A new rush of adrenaline burst through his body at the pain of Shiro's claws in his skin and it was a matter of moments before his back arched, his body submitting to the pleasure and showing Shiro just how perfect he'd made Lotor feel by filling his mouth. Lotor didn't give him a warning but it wasn't as if Shiro was unaware of what was happening. Lotor hadn't know what to expect so he couldn't really have given Shiro a warning, anyway.

A loud cry of Shiro's name tore from his throat upon climaxing, still clutching Shiro's hair tightly as he allowed the demon to pull away from him. The blissful sensations left Lotor red and flustered, panting, sweating, breathless and overwhelmingly relieved.

"Th-Thanks-" he breathed, a small smile lingering on his lips. The sensations were almost addictive- he was tempted to tug Shiro down for more but took a few moments to recompose himself and released the other.

Once Shiro's hair had been released from Lotor's strong grip, his scalp still burning with some pain, he fell back onto his behind and slumped into a slackened state, heavy gasps tearing through his lips as he tilted his head up to the ceiling once he swallowed back Lotor's hot mess. He felt a little shaky, his tense muscles jumpy beneath his strangely sweaty skin. Shiro reached up to wipe his face with the back of his hand, chest heaving. "No... problem..." he panted weakly, shaking his head.

A hand gravitated down to his own modesty, suddenly feeling a bit too tight in his jeans. Shiro lifted his head up, his brain feeling too heavy for his skull as his fluttering eyes looked up at Lotor. A heavy and indescribably delectable scent was wafting from Lotor on the mattress, clouding up Shiro's head and making him feel just about mad as he pushed himself up to sit a little straighter. The smell was like nothing his demon nose had ever experienced before, it left him sitting there like a deer in headlights, peering at the blushing, sweaty, sort of angel before him like he was the fucking sun or something. Burning his eyes but... but simply too alluring to look away.

After a long while though, Shiro wrenched his eyes away, forcing himself to look at the floor. "I'm gonna go take care of myself," he muttered, pushing up into a trembly stand. Shiro looked down at his hands, at the strange blood that coated his claws, shimmering like liquid silver. He turned around and began walking away, not waiting for Lotor's answer as he disappeared into the other room...

Before he knew it he was licking the sparkling substance from his fingers, not thinking about anything but how good Lotor's blood tasted against his tongue in the wake of all that saliva and cum. Shiro's legs went weak beneath him, and he fell down to his knees again, eyes sparking like mad as the last pearls of silver met his taste buds. A deep sort of sound -- something like a half-growl-half-groan -- resonated deep from his chest, magic flushing through him at the teasing taste of heavens lifeblood...

It was absolutely fantastic...

"Fuck," he muttered shakily to himself once he had gathered together enough sense to speak. Shiro brought his hands up to the opposite arms, and slouched low against the floor. He didn't feel horny... but he didn't feel all that normal either. Wanting misted heavily though his system, pumping through him along with his own vile blood. Shiro lifted up his hands again, running his eyes over his claws in a desperate scan for more blood. Of course there was nothing. Nothing at all.

"Fuck," he muttered again, shaking his head.

He was so fucking screwed now.


	14. The Fair

Lotor was relieved. To say the least, anyway. Even after the little blowjob ordeal, the opportunities it opened up for bullying or humiliation, Shiro hadn't been so rude to him. Something seemed off about Shiro's demeanour entirely but it wasn't really anything drastic.

He'd no longer hide away as often. He'd begun sleeping in his bed again, even if Lotor was sleeping there already. If he went to the roof, he'd ask Lotor to join him- even if the answer was almost always no. If he left, he'd let Lotor know instead of just disappearing. He drew near each time they were together. While Lotor braided his hair, which now reached his shoulders, Shiro would sit almost right beside him. Sometimes he'd watch- observe him meticulously, studying every little movement when Lotor pinned his hair out of the way of his neck or pulled it back in an attempt to tie it up like he used to.

Lotor noticed. It was far from subtle. It felt more like Shiro was a predator and he, the prey. It felt like a cat studying a pond, waiting for when the fish drew too close to the surface to be swiped up and devoured. It felt unnerving, unsettling, it put Lotor on edge and yet, it was welcomed. It was better than the neglect Shiro used to present him with and now that he could recall how he felt during most of his memories- it wasn't unfamiliar. In fact, he often lay back on his bed and cycled through as many memories as he could remember in the moment and only a scarce few weren't negative, even if most of them were just out of reach; like a word on the tip of his tongue or the scattered remnants of a dream. The discomfort brought on by prying, staring eyes was familiar and as much as he hated to admit it, provided comfort.

It was becoming more and more evident how disturbing his life had been if even unsettling sensations provided comfort with their familiarity.

Perhaps the most peculiar thing about Shiro's behaviour was the sudden intimacy. It only occured for rare and fleeting moments but sometimes Shiro would act upon whatever he thought of when he stared. He drew close, sometimes going as far as to settle a hand on Lotor's waist. Sometimes to a point of pinning him down. The first few times, Lotor had been a little panicked, fearing that Shiro planned on taking his soul and ending their deal without warning or that he had done something wrong and gotten on Shiro's nerves but whenever he said anything, or if he took in a breath too sharply and it stole Shiro's attention- the demon would pull back. He'd leave the room with an unintelligible grumble or teleport without even a word.

It wasn't long before Lotor was accustomed to this behaviour. When he would feel the arm settle around his waist and the hot breath on his neck and he wouldn't question it. He assumed Shiro was studying him closely for a certain reason, never noticing the fangs nearing his throat or hardly caring about them. He trusted Shiro wouldn't do anything violent or merciless and usually he'd stop out of nowhere and leave as per usual. Lotor simply continued to braid his hair, or do as he'd been doing before the interruption, and feel the warmth leave his side after a few moments of nothing.

He didn't question it and Shiro didn't explain it so he naturally assumed that it wasn't his business or that it was a test of some complicated, disturbing sort. The only thing that mattered was that he didn't question it and Shiro didn't explain it. It just became a repetitive thing.

A repetitive thing that nearly drove Shiro insane.

Again and again Lotor's blood would consume him. The sound of the thick, addicting substance pumping through Lotor's sacred veins and powering Lotor's sacred vessel. The smell of it whenever it would flush to his cheeks or shimmer about a scrape Lotor would get on his palm whenever he would turn the lever of the pipe outside. It overwhelmed Shiro, surrounded him and his helpless system, wrapping him up in a veil of desperate want. He'd lose his head in that yearning mist, he'd gravitate closer and closer, drawn to Lotor like a moth transfixed by flame. The first time it happened Shiro was mortified -- terrified even when Lotor's confused voice snapped him to his senses. The fifth and then on... he just grew angry.

Angry at his own primal instinct. Angry at the denial of his natural right. Angry at himself for turning away and forcing himself from just splitting Lotor's skin open with his fangs and draining him until every last drop was Shiro's and Shiro's only. His neck smelled so good whenever Shiro drew close -- fuck, Lotor's scent was nearly mind-boggling it had been so delicious to Shiro's sensitive sense of smell. So good Shiro nearly broke into animalistic purrs whenever he got near enough to scent it. It was his, wasn't it? Lotor was his! Lotor's stupid neck and his stupid hair and his stupid face and every last splash of his stupid blood. Shiro had a right to drink it!

But he never did. He stopped himself. Even after Lotor had refrained from telling him to go away, Shiro would tense, come to his senses, and leave the room in an instant to go bite his own fist until it bled from utter frustration.

Only a few hours ago had Lotor been doing his hair when he felt the same presence, the hand on his waist, the breath on his neck and, after a moment, Shiro's teeth grazing the skin of his throat. Hovering over his jugular. Waiting like he expected to get permission to bite down or as if he expected to be scolded, squirmed away from. Waiting for a reaction that didn't come.

Shiro just left after a moment or so of waiting, teleporting away without another word.

Then he sat anxiously biting down on his knuckles again, tasting his own disgusting blood on his tongue instead of the blood he really craved. He was out on the roof -- that was usually where he teleported after denying himself a taste of Lotor. He sat there, body tense and aching, desperately trying to watch the sun go down His addiction had a firm hold of him, feeling like a wild animal trying to scratch itself out of his system as it overwhelmed the poor, tired demon. He had lifted his hand and bit at it to try and stop himself from feeling anything but pain, focusing hard on the splitting of his own skin beneath his fangs or the lacing burn of his scars.

Anything but how good Lotor smelled...

The smell met Shiro's nose when the wind blew, and he whipped his head up in search for its host. Sure enough, Lotor had been climbing up the ladder to the roof, the sight making Shiro recoil and scoot away on impulse. He gnawed at his hand, huffing deeply to himself as he turned himself away so his back face the sort-of-angel as he clambered up onto the rooftop.

"What do you want?" Shiro asked, his tone angry but a little shaky. He wiped his lips with the back of his beetle-black hand, hoping to keep his vile blood from the angel's line of sight if he happened to turn around. "I want to be alone."

"You've been acting different lately," Lotor said, stood two metres away from Shiro, behind him. A safe distance away. "It's been since the incident and... I was wondering if you wanted to tell me anything." He took a few steps toward Shiro- slow and hesitant. Cautious. He was walking on a tightrope now, thin like piano wire and so eager to snap if he said the wrong thing. So easy to be cut. It was as if he stood halfway down the rope, treading lightly. Too far forward to turn back but too far from the end to make it safely if Shiro cut the thread. Shiro, who sat at the podium at the end- waiting to greet him and pull him to safety as he crossed another obstacle, another barrier. Shiro, who twirled the scissors around his fingertips as he waited for just one indication that he should let Lotor fall.

Another step forward, eyes fixed on the demon. "I've been meaning to ask you about the constant closeness. You draw near and then turn away from me. I'm never sure if I've done something wrong of if you change your mind for alternate reasons. I'm never sure whether I do the right thing or the wrong thing. It's a complicated situation to be in and I was hoping you would provide me with clarity." He was a metre from Shiro now, still studying him for the slightest hint that he'd lash out, brandishing the scissors.

"Your heart rate is picking up," Shiro said simply, pulling his knees to his chest. "It just got two beats faster."

He heard the first bubbling noise of a confused huh? from Lotor, but Shiro spoke before Lotor could get any more sound out. "I can hear it," he said, bringing a hand back up to his mouth so he could bite at his torn skin some more. When he spoke again, his words were slurred past the knuckle of his thumb. "I... I can smell it, too. I can smell your blood pumping through you with every fucking heartbeat."

Shiro gave a deep breath, took the hand from his mouth, and turned around slowly. He didn't wipe the new trails of black that trickled down his chin away that time, instead he just registered the dull look of disgusted confusion that flickered about Lotor's features at the pathetic sight. Shiro gave a huff of laughter to himself, and shook his head, eyes angry and flickering rather desperately as he peered up at that addicting sort-of-angel before him.

"I tasted your blood," he growled. "When I gave you that blowjob. My claws dug into your thighs and when I left I just licked every last drop of the fucking stuff off my fingers." Shiro looked down at the ground, gritting his teeth. "It felt so good. I don't know why. But... but I'm so obsessed with it now. It's all I can think about." He started to chew at his hand again, turning back around to face the horizon. "You'd better just stay away from be until I sort myself out..."

Lotor studied him for a few moments.   
"It's addictive," he mumbled. "I hear... rumours. Stories. Usually horror stories to keep us away from demons. I can't recall how many times I'd overhear tales of angels who got too close. Angels with scratches and demons with addictions. I'd hear stories of an angel with a broken wing fallen. Alone. They cried for help and demons came. They asked for help and... and they couldn't escape because of their wing. Surrounded. Eaten alive. I'm not sure what morals we were supposed to take from it- whether it was to be careful of getting hurt, to avoid falling from heaven, or to avoid demons."

Hesitant, Lotor approached. He sat down beside Shiro. "Though research proves that the only dangerous aspect of the addiction is the withdrawal. You'll crave more and more with the longer time there is between doses. The first taste is the most dangerous. If I give you controlled doses, you won't be dangerous to me or to anyone else. Two a day should be enough- two or three drops at minimum, five or six at maximum. If I manage to give you each dose... it should be safe. And slowly I will change it from once every twelve hours to every thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen and etcetera. Then from one day to two and then to three until you no longer crave it. Until you no longer hear my blood or pulse."

He extended his arm and brandished a talon, digging it into his forearm. A little too low down to be his wrist- he didn't want to risk getting a vein. The scent of that would be enough to encourage Shiro to drain him. He extended his arm.

"Three drops," he said softly. "Can you stop yourself after drinking that much or will I need to stop you?"

It was apparent that Shiro needed to be stopped when he mindlessly lunged for Lotor's arms upon the mere exposure of those few little drops, his eyes wide and flashing like fire as he pushed forward with an animalistic sort of growl. Lotor's hand on his chest stopped him, and Shiro came to his senses, heavy breath heaving in and out of his parted lips as he watched the thin trickle of silver slip from Lotor's arm. Shiro tried to make himself pull away, but he couldn't -- he was frozen, stuck in trembling place, eyes glued to the soft dripping of Lotor's lifeblood.

"You shouldn't..." he whispered, not even able to shake his head. "You shouldn't do this... I... I could..." Lotor moved a little closer.

"I insist," he said, his eyes flickering to his skin as the blood began to pool, forming neat little pearls of silver and gold on his skin. "You need this. It'll only be worse for us both if you don't accept."

Shiro stayed still a moment or so, considering everything hard in his head. He felt the hand on his chest reluctantly slip away, leaving Shiro free to lean in and lick the trickle of blood from Lotor's arm. There was a moment of hesitation -- a beat of his own nervous waiting -- before Shiro pressed in and ran his tongue along the thin line of silver blood.

Shiro was affected instantly, a rush of magic pouring into him, flooding him, feeling like nothing he'd ever felt before. The wounds on his hands instantly healed, the skin and the scabs pulling themselves together properly into the normal smooth grooves of Shiro's knuckles. Shiro shuddered, dragging his tongue up to where Lotor had pierced the skin, mindlessly going for more. Upon feeling the brush of sharp teeth against his skin, Lotor had realised that Shiro wasn't going to be able to pull himself away. Shiro had just barely gotten to press his fangs into Lotor's arm before it was wrenched from him, leaving Shiro hunched over and breathless.

"Fuck," he whispered, swallowing hard. The taste lingered on his tongue. The feeling of good, clean power thrummed through his system. Shiro couldn't keep himself from purring for an instant or so, the grating sounds of his own comfort and pleasure rumbling out somewhere from inside the concaves of his chest. Shiro swallowed again, closing his eyes and sinking his head down to touch the cool cement of the rooftop. "Thank you. I... I don't know how much longer I would have lasted without... fuck..."

The demon blinked his eyes, shook his head, and looked up at Lotor. "That was dangerous," he said huskily, trying to shove away the purrs and replacing them with anger. "I almost bit you. I... I want to bite you. You shouldn't have done that."

"If I'd left it much longer, you'd have slammed me into a wall and drained me for everything I had." He pressed the palm of his hand to the wound to stem the flow of the blood. "You'll want to bite me but you've managed to hold back for this long so you'll be able to keep yourself in check." His eyes were fixed on the view before him. He trusted Shiro. It was a foolish choice but he trusted Shiro and he knew that he could. "I'll give you more in twelve hours time," he said softly, slowly getting to his feet. "Until then, I'll be in your room or practicing outside."

He didn't wait for a response before starting inside, again sliding down the ladder and settling on his feet on the bottom floor so that he could go to Shiro's room. Atlas lay on the bed, perking up when she saw Lotor and sniffing at him, bumping her wet nose against his chest. He smiled fondly down as her as he coaxed his fingers though her fur, holding her muzzle in both hands as she sniffed at him and licked his neck and jaw, letting out soft little yaps to show her excitement at having him back.

Shiro watched him go, having collected himself in a calmer state than before. He turned back to look at the low sun and her amber rays as she sank down over the crest of the horizon and its trees, drawing his knees up to his chest again as he watched it rather thoughtfully. He felt more awake that before. More energized. A few simple drops of Lotor's blood had just about prepared him for a fucking marathon. Shiro gave a deep sigh and watched the landscape around him... he wanted to go out and do something. Something fun in the night with his new flush of power... but he didn't really want to do anything alone.

The warehouse materialized around him even before Shiro knew he was teleporting. He looked up at Lotor, cocking his head at the sort-of-angel and the Hellhound for a moment or so as he tried hard to think of something to say. The mark on Lotor's arm had stopped bleeding... that was good -- nothing to tempt him into doing anything too violent. Shiro brought his hands up to his chest and fumbled them together a bit nervously, eyes flicking down to the floor.

"I... uh... I kinda wanna go out and do something," he said quietly, rising up his shoulders. "Do you wanna go out? Maybe in the woods... or maybe somewhere more public, I guess, so I don't suck your blood or anything..." Shiro cringed, understanding the joke was probably in rather poor taste at the moment. "We can go eat gross human food. There's also a stupid fair up for another two days by the docks. It'll be awful and stupid and I'll hate it but I, uh, wouldn't mind going."

Lotor's gaze flickered to Shiro. He smiled a little.

"That'd be nice," he nodded as he straightened up, watching as Atlas dashed over to Shiro and barked at him, happy to see him even if he'd only been gone a couple of hours. "I'd like to eat gross human food with you. When do you want to go?" He was already shedding his non-human form to pass as a normal person, looking forward to going out again for the first time in days. Weeks, perhaps. He'd not gone anywhere populated by humans since the library a couple of weeks back so it would be pretty exciting to go out again. "I want to learn more about human culture. If I'll be living there with them for a while, I ought to get caught up on their culture and community as soon as possible."

Shiro couldn't hide the sudden perking up of his shoulders, but he managed to keep his excitement mostly hidden aside from the overjoyed flicking of his tail. "Nice," he said calmly, smirking. Shiro whisked his wrist, and his form instantly changed to human -- his outfit becoming one made from tight black pants and a black button up with a crisp red tie. He held out his hand for Lotor to take, claws disguised as black, manicured fingernails. "Then I guess we'll get going as soon as possible."

Once Lotor's hand had met his own, Shiro, disregarding the usual buzz, gathered together enough magic for the journey. He closed his eyes and focused on the docks... and then the damp, warehouse air became the salty breath of the sea. The wooden docs creaked beneath them, and the waves sang to them below the tall, wooden structures as they crashed into each barnacle covered pillar. Boats clunked against one another off by where they were kept, their bells clanging softly whenever the wind blew a little rougher against their forms. The sounds of the far around the block were loud, music and laugher filling Shiro's ears as the scent of popcorn and fuel for the rides filled Shiro's nose.

Shiro gave a soft sort of groan and stumbled a little bit, the magic of such a far jump for such large mass straining his body. Sturdy hands caught his shoulders before his knees could completely buckle, and when Shiro fluttered his eyes open, he caught the concerned stare of Lotor watching him closely. Shiro laughed it off and pulled away, reaching a hand up to his temple.

"I'm fine," he muttered with a huff of a laugh, shaking his head. "Long jump. That's all." Shiro straightened up and looked around him, suddenly liking the sceren peacefulness of the lulling ocean sounds much more than the screams of children and the shrill dinging of carnival games... but Lotor wanted to see people...

So people it was.

Shiro rose a thumb and jutted it in the direction of the fair. "Thataways, angel-face," he hummed, beginning to turn around. "We'll walk around a bit and do some carnival shit. Maybe I can knock some ice cream out of a kid's hand, or win an arm wrestling contest or something. Once we're done we can come back here and I can recharge or something if I need to."

"I think it'd be interesting to see a demon winning an arm wrestling competition. Or, better yet, I'd love to see a demon lose," he teased out as he continued to walk, pulling his hand away from Shiro's and beginning to wander. His curiosity was stolen away by each different noise that came from each different direction. Several times did he begin over to one stall, attracted by the scent or the colours or the lights when another stall had a sweeter scent or a louder noise or brighter lights and he'd wander over another way. In fact, he didn't stop at a single stall as he wandered, too quickly distracted by another.

He'd never been somewhere like this before. He'd never been told about human culture like this. He didn't know that they did stuff like that before. He didn't know that they had these kinds of celebrations. If he had this much to learn about them, perhaps it wasn't so bad to be alone like that. Finally, at the end of the dock, he stopped and turned to Shiro.

"Is this what it's like all the time" he asked. "Do humans always do things like this? Festivities and celebrations and everything else. So many flashing lights and such loud music and everything else. It's fascinating. Don't you think so?"

Shiro's nodded weakly, trying hard to keep from rolling his eyes. The closer they got to some of the bigger machinery with all the oil and the gears and smells of sweaty labor the more Shiro's head would spin. While they were walking, Lotor wandering and gaping like an actual puppy, Shiro had whisked his hand and summoned up a white surgical mask to wear over his face. It smelled dully of lavender and grass fields -- Shiro charmed it a while back to always smell like some sort of nature. It was an emergency plan for whenever he would have to go into a city or something with a large carbon footprint. Shiro had slipped it over his face and walked a bit behind Lotor as they came up on stalls and on long, winding lines for teacups or rickety, one-sloped roller coasters.

"I guess so," he grumbled once he had gotten up to Lotor's side. His voice was a little muffled under his mask. "Humans like to have as much fun as possible during their time on Earth, I guess. With death so inevitable, you've gotta distract yourself somehow." Shiro lifted his hand and gestured the corny little fair around them. "This is one of those ways, I guess."

"It's all so loud," Lotor marvelled with shining eyes. "And so bright. It must look phenomenal in the late evening light. Don't you think it would look spectacular?" he asked, glancing over to Shiro- who didn't respond.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around some, eyes narrowed as he looked for something stupid they could do. His eyes landed on a large stuffed toy hanging from one of the carnival stalls, shaped like a black wolf. Shiro grinned, and lifted a finger to point at it. "Let's go try and win that," he said, elbowing Lotor. "I want it."

Lotor nodded a little, turning to look at it.

"Of course!" He was already beginning to the stall, smiling warmly. It was a ball toss. Lotor stood at the stall, turning to Shiro as the vendor picked up three baseballs.  
"Two dollars for each throw or three for five dollars! Think you can win?" He had been announcing, now holding the baseballs in hand and extending his other hand for the payment to arrive. Lotor turned to Shiro.

"Have you got any money? I haven't got any but I want to try it! I want to try to win the wolf."

"Oh, that one?" the vendor asked, pointing his thumb at the exact teddy Shiro had pointed out. "That takes three shots."

Shiro smirked, and put an absent minded hand on Lotor's shoulder, shoving his other hand in his pocket. Shiro focused, summoned up ten bucks, and then held it out for the vendor, grinning as he flicked about the cash. "Three for me, and three for him," he said, wishing his gloating smile wasn't covered up by his mask.

The man took the money, and handed Shiro the three baseballs first, his eyes twinkling with familiar mischief as he turned around and gestured the rounded target, pointing a finger at the very small hole in the center. "All you gotta do is get the ball in the hole," he said in a loud, showy sort of tone. "Easy peasy. It'll be nothin', baby. That wolf is as good as yours."

Shiro gave a huffing sort of laugh, getting a feel for the baseball as he stepped back some, his hand now off of Lotor's shoulders. He looked at the sort-of-angel, and gave him a cute little wink before turning back to the target. "Watch this, hun," he said smartly, his voice smug and knowing as he pulled back his arm of his head. Shiro used his magic to aim, pinching on eye closed as he focused. Three seconds later, his arm moved forward and his wrist flicked -- the ball leaving his hand. It was the perfect throw, spiraling and spiraling and-

"What?" Shiro cried his eyes shooting wide when the ball, despite his perfect perfect aim, bounced right off of the the edge of the target's hole with a dull thunk. He whipped his head to the smirking vendor. "My aim was perfect! The ball didn't fit!"

The vendor shrugged. "Sorry, man," he said, shaking his head. "You didn't throw hard enough. You can try again with your other two and get the smaller prizes."

Shiro scowled at him, something that surely would have been more intimidating without that dumb mask. "No, I want the big wolf," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Give me another one."

"Five bucks," the man said.

Shiro gave a growl. "You said two for one!"

The vendor shrugged. "Three tries for five, hun," he said in an infuriatingly slick tone.

Shiro watched him darkly for a few moments, tense and angry. "I hate humans," he muttered to Lotor.

"What?"

"Nothing," Shiro snapped, shoving his free hand in his pocket and drawing out another five with his magic. "Here's your five. Give me another one."

He tried with those three, and he missed every time. Shiro paid another five bucks, and then another, and then another. The stupid balls wouldn't fit -- the target was rigged but Shiro didn't care one bit. His pride and his dignity got the best of him as he slammed another five dollars on the counter, his eyes nearly flaming with conviction as he ordered another three.

The vendor frowned, shaking his head. "Look, buddy, you've tried," he said, pushing the five back. "As cute as this is, and as bad as I feel for you, I've got a line. More business. Let your boyfriend have a go and then skedaddle."

Shiro started to argue, but he stopped himself, eyes going wide. "He isn't my boyfriend!" Shiro cried, hot blush rising in his cheeks. He gave a disgusted scoff, snatched the five back, and then turned around to Lotor, folding his arms over his chest. "Go on. It's fucking rigged. Not like you're gonna win nothin' anyways." His tone was pouty and defeated, eyes on the ground as he huffed out his dismal words.

"You've already paid for me to have a go so I won't waste it," he said softly. He sent another apologetic glance to the small line accumulating behind him before deciding to focus on whether or not he could actually win the prize. He had seen people coming back from this stall with prizes and there were empty hooks so it surely wasn't impossible. Perhaps a little difficult, yes, but far from impossible. He saw no reason not to give it a try.

Lotor's attention drifted to Shiro and then to the baseballs in his hand. He shifted to where Shiro had been stood and adjusted his stance. There was about two metres between him and the target. It wasn't going to be too difficult to achieve this if he were able to get the angle of the throw correct. Judging from how Shiro's attempts had gone he could make an approximate guess to the correct angle and he'd just have to hope it was close enough to be accurate. This throw had about three degrees flexibility in all directions if his aim was a little off. He lifted his hand, preparing himself to throw the ball and testing it's weight to figure out the force he'd need to use.. A few moments passed as he figured out how the wind would affect the throw and perfected the angle and force needed adequately before he threw the first ball.

If one didn't go in, he'd fail to get the teddy so there was no point in waiting and dragging it out. In fact, the second that the first ball left his hand he was throwing the second. Then the third.

He relaxed his stance after a moment, sighing quietly as he watched the three balls slot perfectly into their place with a repetitive dull thunk. Realising that he'd won the teddy, a smile curled onto his lips and he took it when it was offered to him.

"Here," he said the second it was in his hands, turning and offering it to Shiro. He'd only been trying to get it because Shiro wanted it. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Shiro gaped at him for a moment or so, completely shell shocked. "How... how did you...?" he mumbled out, shaking his head a little as he thought about Lotor's perfection, running it over and over in his head as though it had been on instant replay. It took a moment or so of staring from both the vendor and Lotor for Shiro to snap back into his senses. Shiro reached out and carefully took the stuffed wolf from Lotor, and looked down at it, meeting those beady, plastic blue eyes with his own. It was incredibly soft. It's texture was perfect. It was a little overstuffed and its stitchings were poorly done -- strings hung off from a long hem across its belly -- but Shiro didn't mind. It made it a bit more nice to hug when he brought it to his chest and looked up at Lotor.

There was no denying his smile. Even if his mouth was covered by that mask of his... the gratitude and the awe sparkled in his eyes.

"Thank you, Lotor," he said gently, holding the stuffy a little tighter. "It's really nice."

"Oh, it was no problem," he said fondly. "You're the reason I'm out here so I'm happy to get you anything you want."

The vendor gave a long sigh, his theatrical niceness from before lost -- it had left him when the stuffed wolf did. "Alright, lovebirds," he muttered, waving his hand at them. "Scram."

Shiro's strange, vulnerable softness left him in an instant, and he gave the vendor a hard scowl from under his mask. "Gladly," he muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned around and started off. "Come on, Lotor. Let's go do some other pointless thing."

"Yeah," Lotor sid warmly, his cheeks still a little red from the excited thanks that Shiro had given him. "Yes, definitely. Let's go taste sugary human food and play some more of these games to get some more trinkets. Oh, and I was wondering if it would be okay for us to get some proper furniture for your room. I don't want to critique you or make it seem like I'm criticising but I'm not that much of a fan of sleeping on a mattress on the floor."

Shiro snorted, still squeezing his wolf plushie into his chest. "What, you don't like the whole 'homeless drug addict' look I'm going for?" he asked with a laugh, flicking his eyes up to Lotor at his side. "It's not classy but it's charming, yeah?"   
"Far from it, in fact, but I'd just appreciate it if we could clean up a little."

Lotor's gaze scanned the fairground when he noticed a small cat plushie hooked on a different stall. His eyes widened, sparkling a little.

"Oh!" he began toward the stall, pointing at the plushie. "I used to have a cat. When I was alive. Her name was Kova and she accompanied me everywhere. Would it be okay for us to get it? I would like it. I'd like to have something bearing resemblance to a cat I used to have for my comfort."

Shiro followed Lotor's finger, cocking his head a little at the tiny little stuffed animal. "Aw, you're a cat person?" he said in a warm sort of hum, already starting to walk towards the stall. It was an easy one -- a dart toss game where you had to pop water balloons, something fairly hard to rig or turn into a scam. He turned to Lotor, who was trailing close behind him. "That's sweet. I like cats, but Attie doesn't so I don't usually get to hand around them much."

"Yeah, I'm definitely a cat person. Kova was a therapy animal for me- she meant the world to me."

Shiro strolled up to the booth with Lotor around , the woman in charge offering him a much easier smile than the man before and a little wave. "What can I do for you two today?" she asked through her grin, cocking her head.

Shiro turned to Lotor. "Do you want to play or do you want me to win it for you?" he asked in a slick sort of tone, raising up a brow. "I've got to redeem myself from that embarrassment from before."

"If you can win, feel free to try but don't waste that much money again." He took a slight step back, gesturing to the stall. "But I would greatly appreciate it." His gaze drifted from the woman manning the stall and Shiro. He took a couple of steps back, gesturing for him to try. "Good luck."

Smirking, Shiro pulled out five bucks and offered it to the woman, getting three darts, instructions, and a gook luck! in return. There were no tricks to this one -- Shiro made sure of it as he scanned the bulbous water balloons and pricked the tip of his finger on the sharpened end of the dart. All he had to do was set down his wolf plushie by his feet, aim with his good eye and with his magic, and then zip zip zip -- three water balloons all burst one by one, right after the other. Shiro smiled brightly, despite the droplets of lukewarm water that had splashed on him and the chuckling vendor. He wiped a hand down his face, shook off the water, and then reached it out to the woman.

"Can I have the little cat?" he asked, glissing his gaze to Lotor in his peripheral. The angel smiled warmly at Shiro, having watched the little show he put on with his perfect aim and smooth shooting.

The woman cocked her head. "You got three. That means you get one of he bigger prizes," she said, gesturing the row of over stuffed teddies and monsters that hung on a rack to her left.

"Just the cat will do," Shiro assured, wiggling his fingers.

She snorted and reached up for the little cat, giving it to Shiro alone with two lollipops to make up for not getting the bigger prize.

Nearly gleaming with pride, Shiro turned around and held out the little toy for Lotor. "One cat, and one dumb human candy," he said, using his other hand to scoop up his wolf. "Now that's a carnival game if I've ever seen one."

A small grin had since settled on Lotor's features as he took the candy, taking off the wrapper before popping it into his mouth. It was overpoweringly sweet and the flavour resembled a lemon. Human candies and foods were always so simple and plain- there was an appeal to that.  
"Thank you for the cat," he said to Shiro, his voice a little quiet but his words no less sincere. "It means more to me than you think it does."

Shiro gave a wave of his hand and a hushed 'psh' sort of sound as they moved away from the darts booth. "You gave me your blood earlier, dude," he said shaking his head. "It was nothin'."

They stayed at the fair for nearly three more hours. Of course, because of their smells and their lights and their sounds, Shiro steered clear from the rides, but they did other things. They played more games and got more candy -- so much of the stupid little gumdrops and peppermints and chocolate bars that Shiro had to conjure up a bag for them to hold it all in. They wandered around the grounds, Shiro making fun of people as they passed and Lotor just disregarding his joking statements to ogle and observe the strange lives of humans about them. Shiro ordered them a plate of disgustingly greasy food -- hamburgers with a side of soggy fries -- and laughed when Lotor mumbled something about barely even being able to stomach the stuff. Once the fair became boring (to Shiro at least), the demon managed to convince Lotor to ditch the docks and go to the shore with him. They took of their shoes and padded down the dark, cool beach, Shiro picking up cool shells and stuffing them in his pockets.

The waves were dark and mysterious as they crashed on the shoreline -- inky black in the dark aside from the white streak bouncing against their surface from the moon's reflection. Shiro liked that, not the moon but the ocean. The water smelled nice — the salt blocked out the human smells so much he could just take his mask off on the beach. They stayed there for a little, mostly in silence as Lotor trailed behind the content Shiro, but then Shiro felt his powers recharge to the best they could and he took Lotor home to their dreary warehouse.

An okay night. Okay for a night with an angel, Shiro had to admit.

Days had passed since the carnival. The little teddy, the stuffed black cat with string for whiskers and embroidered black eyes stayed with him almost everywhere. It was a stupid little thing to carry around and most of the time he'd be holding it by the whiskers, keeping it masked from sight just so that he could have the comfort he provided without seeing the judging look in Shiro's eyes.

He couldn't exactly voice why it was comforting. Why it seemed so important for him to have this little stuffed feline close to him. Perhaps with the return of traumatic memories came a subtle longing for some accomplice. Something loyal- something that wanted to be with him because he provided for it and cared for it. Shiro only kept him around because he'd made a deal- he had an angel prepared to do his bidding at any time. Just because it wasn't exploited doesn't mean he didn't expect that to be the only reason.

Speaking of Shiro- Lotor had been alone for hours now. Hours longer than usual, anyway. He was perched by the window on the edge of the mattress, studying the stars and the clouds with such envy that he couldn't voice. As much as he hated to think of who waited for him past heaven's gates, he could deny his longing to return. He could always insist it wasn't truly a home but it was. It had been his home. He'd lost it all too soon.

His gaze slowly turned to the teddy perched on his lap. The cat stared emptily out at the sky, too, and Lotor grew tired of the silence that never seemed to die. He set the cat down on the bed and stood, about to go to the roof to relax and get some air when he noticed Shiro's lingering scent spike. He'd returned.

Shiro knew he was being an idiot. Those simple five words — Shiro, you are an idiot — just ran around his head in a repetitive mantra as he walked out into the bedroom area of his warehouse, the crate in his hand shifting oddly as the creature it harbored moved about curiously. It was a cutesy little handling crate — a large enough side, but not big enough to be obnoxious. Shiro walked over to Lotor, holding up his hand when he watched the angel open his mouth to speak. Lotor's eyes had been on the crate in Shiro's hands — Shiro made sure to shift it behind his legs so Lotor's prying eyes couldn't make out the surprise.

"I've got a present, angel-face," Shiro hummed, tipping up his head a little. "You're just gonna love it."

"A present?" Lotor echoed as he took a step toward him, gaze flickering warily to the box in Shiro's hands. He didn't know what to expect from him- at this point, Shiro could be giving him everything.

Shiro gave a soft sort of laugh, cocking his head a little. "Yeah, it's a present," he said smartly, pulling it from behind his legs and shifting his hands so he could hold it up to his chest. "I was thinkin', I've got a dog and a dog plushie. You've got a cat plushie but no cat. Figured it wasn't fair."

He gestured the crate with his free hand, smiling like an idiot at the look that flickered about Lotor's features. "Stopped by the shelter and picked you out a friend for when I'm gone!" Shiro held out the crate to Lotor, the creature inside giving a little chirp at the sudden gesture. "They named her Whiskers but that's dumb and I figured you could do better. She's two years old. Her old owner left her on a box by the highway so she's kinda mean. But you know how to give mean things love, don't ya?"

Lotor's eyes widened, taking the box and setting it on the mattress. He knelt down, gently opening the gate to the box and moving back. He knelt down, looking inside the dark box and seeing two reflective eyes staring back at him. He watched cautiously as this cat began to approach, taking shaky steps out of the crate. She seemed skittish, first off, and the second she was close enough to the entrance she peeked outside. Her gaze swept the room slowly, fixing on Lotor after a moment before she ducked back into the crate.

"Thank you," he said softly, gaze not lifting from the cat hidden in the box. It was too dark to see what colour she was so he couldn't quite tell which breed but he hardly cared about that. Shiro had gotten him a cat. Shiro had gone out of his way to pick up a cat for him just because Lotor had told him about the therapy cat he used to have.

 

He smiled softly, patiently, watching as the cat slowly began out of the crate again. "I'll call her Feathers," he uttered, his voice slow and delicate. He could barely believe that he had a cat again. He could hardly believe that Shiro had done something so sweet for him. "I don't want to hurt you," he said to her. "You're going to be safe while you're here. You'll be my companion, Feathers, and I'll keep you safe."

She seemed to understand what he meant- or at least understood from his tone that he didn't plan on harming her, and slowly began to creep out of the cage again. She approached Lotor, who still studied her with those enamoured eyes. From the dull lighting she looked like an American shorthair. He raised his hand to her for her to smell to adjust herself to the scent and she stopped by his hand. She sniffed it, slowly opening her mouth and biting down on his finger. It didn't hurt, though, so Lotor simply let her and raised his other hand to pet the top of her head. It didn't even draw a drop of blood, which was good. Her teeth were too dull. He'd take her to a vet sometime soon if he could- just to make sure she was healthy.

When she pulled off of his hand (now entirely aware that he didn't plan on hurting her) she dashed over to him. Lotor was knelt beside the mattress, leant down, and she quite happily trotted over to bump their foreheads together. It seems like those angel powers were coming in handy when it came to taming cats. She bumped her head against his as he ran his fingers through her fur. After a moment she was sitting down, purring quietly, welcoming his affection. Lotor had almost entirely forgotten about Shiro's presence.

Shiro watched, cocking his head, curious eyes narrowing as he took in the scene before him. Despite what the lady at the shelter had said... the cat seemed particularly trusting all curled up in Lotor's lap like that. Shiro listened to it purr against Lotor's petting, the sound grating in his sensitive ears as he watched the pair of them. For some reason, something hot flashed in his chest at the sight. Something that felt like instinct... but an instinct Shiro had never felt before.

Before he could stop them, a series of images flickered in Shiro's mind. Scenarios where it was him curled up on Lotor's lap and it was him getting the scratches on his head and about his hair or behind his fucking ears. Shiro blinked them away, cringing heavily at the strange jealousy he felt suddenly gnawing at his insides. What the fuck? Why was he jealous? How... how could he be jealous? It was a fucking cat.

Bitter and confused, Shiro furrowed his eyes and gave an impulsive snort. "You're real cuddly on that animal, huh?" he muttered quietly, turning his his gaze to the floor. Shiro wished his tone didn't sound so much like a fucking pout. "Maybe you've found another soulmate or somethin', huh?"

"Shiro," Lotor said softly as he looked up, still petting the cat curled up on his lap. "Are you jealous of the cat that you bought me?" he asked, keeping his gaze on the demon like he could see right through him. Though, in all honesty, it just wasn't difficult. The snide muttering, the sharp edges to his tone. Just everything about Shiro screamed that he was frustrated and jealous. Lotor turned his gaze to Feathers, who had her eyes closed as she let out purrs of content. Not wanting to stand and disturb her, Lotor teleported to the bed to settle down on it, his legs outstretched opposite him.

Shiro's eyes widened, watching Lotor with a shocked sort of stare. "What? Jealous?" he said in a sharp sort of tone, tensing up. "Of a cat? I... no way. Not at all, man. That's a fucking ca-"

"Come here. Come and sit down beside me." His attention on Feather's didn't waver as he spoke to Shiro, still petting her with one hand while his other hand gestured to the empty space beside him. "Don't even ask why, just trust me and sit beside me."

He opened his mouth to argue, but then Shiro found a lack for his words. There was a stiff moment of silence, Shiro's eyes pinned down on Lotor's calm form as he tried to find a way to talk his way out of it. Lotor didn't give him orders. Lotor didn't tell him what to do. If anything it was the other way around... if anything Shiro was the one to tell Lotor not to ask questions and tell him to come to him. But... somehow Shiro couldn't find the willpower to refuse Lotor's warm little command. Even if the idea of it being a command made Shiro's skin crawl.

Reluctantly, and with a little growled grumble about Lotor being dumb, Shiro stepped his way over to the angel on the mattress and sank down to a slouched sit beside him. "What do you want?" Shiro asked, rolling his eyes. "Don't you dare try to stuff some of that God-damn Jesus-freak power into my head again or so help me I'll-"

Not questioning the sudden obedience, Lotor just silenced Shiro with a low shush and began to run his fingers through Shiro's soft hair. He made sure not to let even an inkling of magic transfer from his fingers to Shiro, not wanting a replay of plast time, no matter how difficult it was to keep the magic in his fingertips when it was so easy to let it go. Instead he just toyed with his hair, curling long strands around his fingertips on occasion.

"If you're going to complain and get jealous because you're not getting attention then you'll be treated just like Feathers," he said in an almost chiding tone when he began to notice the low rumbling noises weren't just coming from the cat on his lap.

Despite the hot blush and despite all the mortified alarm bells ringing about his system, Shiro couldn't help but stop his argumentative rambling... and then he couldn't help but let his eyelids sink into a comfortable close and his head push a little closer into Lotor's hand. Again, it was like an instinct resonating from somewhere deep inside of him, telling him in whispers what to do and how to do it. Shiro let his tense muscles inwind and his shoulders slump and his bitter frown relax. Lotor's fingers pushed through his hair. His talons just graced Shiro's scalp in an addictive sort of tickle. Each time Lotor's hand would comb through Shiro's wavy locks and then run back down the shorter trimmed buzz of the back of his head, a buzzing rush of pleasure trickled down his system to just the very tips of his toes.

Shiro hadn't been touched that gently and with that much intimate delicacy in... well... ever, really.

The purrs came easy after that.

Shiro didn't purr that often. Sometimes the rumble would rise up and curl around his words when he spoke about deals or blood. Sometimes gentle little bursts would escape him whenever he was blessed with a feeling of magic or minimal comfort -- sort of like when he had gotten those few drops of blood from Lotor. They embarrassed him. Shiro always despised whoever or whatever designed demons -- such ferious and ruthless beings of hate and fear -- for making a serious design flaw upon adding the ability to fucking purr. It was a humiliating display. Even when he was alone, he always would try to stop them or stifle them whenever he'd get too comfortable in the sun or in his cozy little heater.

The second he noticed those deep sort of rumbles grating from his chest, Shiro's eyes shot open and he pulled away, both hands flying to his mouth as his face flushed the deepest red he had ever harbored. The embarrassment felt like acid in his system, flushed throughout his bloodstream and choking up his lungs. He knew clamping his hands over his mouth would do nothing to stifle the sounds that rattled about in the concave of his chest, but he held his grip there anyways, squeezing his eyes tight so he didn't have to see Lotor's reaction.

The ghost of that hand on his head nearly drove him insane. God, everything about that fucking angel was addicting, wasn't it? It was simply maddening how much power the creature had over him when Shiro was the stronger one and it was Shiro who had Lotor's soul in his pocket. The idea made Shiro nearly want to rip his hair out as he sat there, purring like some domestic housecat, shaking his head back and forth.

"Don't do that again," Shiro said through his hands, fluttering open his eyes. Despite the threatful tone he aimed for, those stupid purrs rose up and danced around his words as he spoke, distorting them into a sort of chirping-chitter as they rose from his lips. "That was humiliating. Don't do that again. Fuck."

"You purr?" Lotor asked, a small amused grin curling onto his lips. "I didn't expect that. You must have been jealous for a reason," he said as he scratched behind Feathers' ears. There was definitely a smug hint to the smile on his lips as he flickered his gaze to Shiro. He couldn't help the smug pride that blossomed in his chest even as Shiro glared at him and tried to intimidate him. It wouldn't work- Lotor knew Shiro too well to be intimidated by this point. "It's cute though. Nowhere near as humiliating as you think and if you want me to pet you again I will comply whenever."

Okay, the smug tone in his voice might have been a little excessive for the peace he'd been maintaining but god knows that it had been too perfect of an opportunity for him to be just a little cocky. He hadn't shown off after winning the fair game in one go, after all, and he'd not been arrogant when he'd figured out how to deal with Shiro's addiction or when he'd figured out why Atlas was acting out or any of those reasons. In fact, this was the first time he'd let the low tingling smug sensations take enough of an effect to be noticeable.

And he had to admit that it gave a nice suave hint to his voice.

If possible, Shiro's system seemed to flare up all the more so with the crackling heat of embarrassment and... and what was that other thing? Climbing about his chest, squeezing his heart, fluttering up in his lungs -- all of that at that low, smug sort of tone that rose up around Lotor's normally stoic or friendly voice. Shiro put his hands over his face and ducked down, turning away from Lotor. "Shut up," he groaned, standing up so he could properly turn his back to Lotor and stupid little Feathers. "I'm not cute." His tail flicked behind him. Shiro grabbed a hand back to stop it, gripping it tightly in his hands to try and stop its dead giveaway to his own flustered system. "I'm evil. And vicious. I'm a wild animal. I'm not cute."

Shiro grit his teeth at the soft little laugh that floated out from behind him. Lotor wasn't sure what it was about Shiro's indignant defense that made him laugh. Maybe it was the genuine anger in his voice when he insisted he wasn't cute. Maybe it was just how Shiro's cheeks flared red and how obviously he got flustered yet he denied it still. Shiro ducked his head a little more, and uttered out a weak little growl, but it was his only response as he stalked off towards the window. Shiro crossed his arms and leaned against the wall beside the windowsill, grumbling to himself as he looked out into the amber sky. Night was approaching slowly -- the first night of the Third Quarter moon. Shiro tried to focus on that as he watched the sky above, shaking his head a little as he tried to even out his breaths and stifle out the last little rumbles of purrs. After a while of silence, Shiro looked over his shoulder at Lotor on the bed.

"I'm going up to look at the stars," he said, as he did every night since the blowjob incident. "Would you like to come with? If you do you might want to bring Feathers with you. Atlas might not take a liking to her just yet."

"You're doing that a lot lately," Lotor said as he got to his feet, setting Feathers back in her cage and scratching behind her ear before he closed the door. "Looking at the stars. It's like you're waiting for something, or do you just have nothing better to do?"

Shiro looked at him, frowning a little. "It's just nice," he said defensively, looking off to the side. "I like nature. I don't know why... the stars are just nice to look at." He didn't get a response.

 

Nonetheless, Lotor got to his feet and began to the door. He strode past Shiro without even a glance over his shoulder and instead began upstairs and up the ladder to the rooftop. He was growing tired of the same routine- Shiro would spend most of the day out, return for idle chatter before asking Lotor to join him looking at the stars. It's either looking at the stars from the roof or the bedroom window. When he had no energy left to practice with and nothing to keep him company or to keep him preoccupied, he'd just stare for hours on end.

Sometimes he'd watch the clouds as they drifted back, a dull ache in his stomach yearning for a home he could never return to. Sometimes he'd grow envious as he stared; the rush of anger and the way he grit his teeth as he stared at his disgusting hands, their inhuman talons, filled him with an unfamiliar nausea. Sometimes he'd stare longingly at them, his torn wing stretched out so that he could look at how the dried blood still shone when turned to face the light. A fallen angel; a forlorn angel. What was the difference?

He'd kept to his room for a few days now and he hadn't seen Atlas in a short while so maybe it would be a nice change, sitting upon the roof with a hellhound settled behind him. It would give him something to think of. Something other than the black blood that poisoned him from where Shiro had grabbed his arm, that still hadn't faded. Something other than the same blood that tainted the veins on his thighs from where Shiro had gripped onto him while doing something sinful those few days ago.

He didn't wait for Shiro just as Shiro never waited for him, settling down on the sofa beside him and bringing his knees to his chest. Atlas hadn't arrived yet but she'd likely appear a matter of seconds after Shiro arrived. He stretched out his wings while Shiro wasn't there to see. He couldn't do it while he was at home. Having his wings fully outstretched showed the damage that had been done so he didn't really like to think about it. He only rarely looked at it- to see how it was healing and know if it was hurting. A few feathers fell to the floor around him. He'd been losing feathers for the last few days but he just assumed it was because he was losing his closeness to the heavens.

 

It didn't even cross his mind that what had happened with Shiro was having this kind of an effect on him. The blackening blood and skin, losing his feathers- it was because he'd been intimate with Shiro.

He turned his gaze back to the view.

The moonlight cast a low silver glow on Lotor's body, illuminating him against the darkness of the night. His white hair reflected the colour of the sky and his halo, still made of shattered remnants, glimmered like glitter when they caught the light. The feathers around him were beautiful and a ghostly white, the low evening breeze sending them fluttering about and scattering away over the edge of the roof. When he heard Shiro coming, climbing on the roof, he turned his head to look at him. His purple eyes shimmered in the moonlight, full of a hidden sadness and loneliness but he seemed to light up when he saw Shiro. Even if only a little, and even if it was fake, a small smile did curl up on his full lips. How perfect he looked, sitting there like this.

Shiro watched him for a moment, liking the way he looked in the moonlight but not admitting it to himself. He closed his eyes, shook his head, and moved his way forward to go sit down beside the angel, pulling his knees to his chest and tipping his back and up so he could gaze up at the speckled sky.

And they stayed like that for the rest of the night.


	15. Repent, Repent

Weeks passed. As did the moon phases. Full Moon was right around the corner and it was painstakingly obvious for both Shiro and Lotor.

Shiro's ability to summon things on command was the first to go as that glaring white rock in the sky showed more and more slivers of its silver light. Next went his ability to teleport two bodies at once without help -- which meant there would be no more random visits to the park or to the docks or to the zoo or wherever Shiro took Lotor out for fun. His appearance dulled; there was no more dazzling makeup or the sparkling clean look of freshly polished horns or claws. He grew more irritable. More impatient. More hungry for power and magic and most of all blood.

Lotor's little doses were enough when they first started. After the first three times, they had moved to the safer method of having Lotor simply prick his finger instead of his arm. Shiro would get too overwhelmed by his natural instinct and try to bite at Lotor's wrist -- the third time he had gotten close to piercing skin, only being able to slice open a shallow cut on Lotor's forearm before he gathered himself together. With the 'finger method' as Lotor had so embarrassingly labeled it, kept Shiro from getting too close to any major arteries or veins. Lotor would just prick the tip of his index finger with the opposite talon, hold it over Shiro's mouth, and squeeze out a drop or so for Shiro to savor on his tongue. And of course, it all worked rather well for the first week or so when Shiro's magic was at an acceptable level... but the lower his power drained, the higher his want for magic became.

The yearning wasn't so powerful as to make him hover over Lotor's neck to listen to his blood pump in its thick stream through his body... but it was powerful enough to make Shiro bitter. He tried not to be mean, but every now and again -- normally a good few moments or so after his small portion of blood, Shiro's tone would get harsh and snappy. He'd apologize gruffly, and then storm off to go find something better to do.

However, every night Shiro still invited Lotor to go look at the stars.

No matter how annoyed or how tense he was, Shiro would always ask Lotor to join him. The answer was almost always a dull no, and Shiro knew each time he'd be denied even before Lotor would open his mouth to respond -- Lotor just didn't find any pleasure in sitting around nature like Shiro did. He got bored. He got restless. Lotor's melodramatic sighs got annoying, as did his fidgeting and his meek attempts at conversation. Shiro always bitterly figured he'd just be better off on his own up there on the rooftop and cursed himself for even inviting Lotor again and again. But... no matter what he'd just repeat the mistake the next night. And the night after that.

Something about Lotor sitting wordlessly beside him as he gazed up at the speckled heavens of the night...

It just felt special. Even if Lotor hated it. Even if it annoyed the hell out of Shiro to watch him sulk with that beautiful pout in the gleaming white light of the nearly bulbous moon. It was... special. It was nice.

The night before Full Moon, Shiro stood outside, burying one of Atlas's little gifts somewhere among all the others. He knew Lotor was watching him, even though he had specifically asked Lotor to keep Atlas away from the windows so she couldn't see what he was doing. Shiro just pretended not to feel those eyes on him as he shoveled back large scoops of dry earth back on top of the dainty little deer and her ripped out intestines. His hand -- the creases of his palm and the folds of his fingers -- blistered from the rough wood of the shovel... which was a humiliating sort of feeling. Only near Full Moons did such trivial things hurt him. Shiro rolled his eyes bitterly when he looked down upon the patches pink, raw skin that dotted about his palm, the shovel lying at his feet and the mound in front of him freshly piled.

He tucked his hand into his coat pocket as he continued inside, hoping he could just find Atlas to lick the wounds or something. The moment he opened the door, he watched Lotor rush away from the window towards the center of the room, looking around in an uncasual-casualness as he tried to divert his attention. Shiro just rolled his eyes again, and scanned the room for his Hellhound, huffing a little when he didn't spot her.

"Where's Attie?" he mumbled briskly, taking his hand from his pocket and pressing the thumb of the opposite one against a larger, burning blister. The synthetic thing was cooled from the chilled air of the night, and, despite the slight hiss it inspired from Shiro's lips, relieved some of the feverish aching. "I need her."  
"I haven't seen her," came Lotor's dull answer as he began back to the bedroom. He only stayed in the hall to see if Shiro would engage in any kind of meaningful conversation. He should be used to it by now- Shiro always either asked about something irrelevant, a closed question so it couldn't progress to conversation or he'd be deadly silent as he walked away.

Lotor grew tired of the tedium, and he'd made that apparent. What did he have to do aside from contemplating his new position on earth and dealing with Feathers? He'd made sure that Shiro summoned more than enough cat food for the moon cycle not to affect her so he didn't need to speak to Shiro for that reason (or almost any other). When Shiro grew snappy or irritable or closed off he'd do the best thing he could think of to prevent conflict. Usually, it was leaving. Almost always. Sometimes he'd stay but he'd keep quiet while Shiro shouted or hissed before the demon was the one to leave first.

How dull their relationship had become.

"Last time I saw her she was pacing around here, whining, then she was gone without any kind of a hint. I thought she'd been lying down which was why she was silent but when I turned and called for her, she was nowhere in sight."

Shiro watched him a few seconds, and then offered a sigh. "Maybe she saw what I was doin'," he sighed, casting his eyes away — trying hard and failing to keep the concern from his tone. Shiro stepped deeper into the warehouse, lifting his hands to cup the sides of his mouth. A shrill whistle escaped his lips, echoing off into the empty building seconds after he let the high noise free. Shiro waited a few moments, listening for the tramping of paws or howls.

Nothing came.

His brow furrowing, Shiro lifted his hand to his lips and whistled louder through his thumb and forefinger. Again, the whistle was met with a heavy silence. "Where the hell is she?" he muttered absently, dropping his hand. Some nerves began to eat at his stomach — acid of paranoia fluttering up into his chest and lacing around his heart. "Atlas! Come!"

Shiro's voice rang loud, boosted with magic even though he knew he should have been reserving it for the night after. His shout carried in the warehouse, but he knew the call would must further for Atlas — his summoning would creep all the way back into the forest and across the town. Shiro waited to no avail however, and called again. And again. And then a fourth time. Each time got a little more desperate.

"Lotor, where the fuck is she?" he said finally, spinning around on his heel. "I told you to watch her. Why isn't she coming?" Shiro looked away, reaching a hand up to his temple and rubbing it hard. He still felt her — he still felt their connection. Either she couldn't hear him or she was ignoring him. And she wouldn't ignore him. Shiro grit his teeth and shook his head. "She always comes when I call. Even when she catches me burying animals. Lotor, where is she?"

"I was watching her until a couple of minutes ago! I thought she was lying down which is why she'd stopped making noise but she'd disappeared! How am I supposed to know?" he asked, taking a couple of steps away from Shiro out of survival-instincts. 

He was intimidating when he was angry. The genuine anger, like this, it made him panic and he suddenly didn't want to be with Shiro.   
"I can't help you look for her so I should go," he said softly. "I want to go. I'm going back to the bedroom. I'll be looking after Feathers while you find her." He began back to the room, storming away from him and beginning down the road. He really didn't want to see him. He really didn't want to be with him until he'd calmed down at least a little.

 

He'd either end up dealing with Feathers until Shiro returned with or without Atlas, or he'd end up being stopped before he could leave for whatever damn reason.

And he was just hoping Shiro would let him leave.

Shiro did. He watched Lotor go, chewing on the inside of his cheek as Lotor hurried away into the other room. His crude, loud, and rather accusing tone had likely scared him and despite Shiro's slight pinch of guilt at that flashing of fear in Lotor's eyes, Shiro didn't have time to worry about it. He spun around on his heel, huffing a little bit as he made his way towards the hall, backing into the door and grunting as he shoved it open. Shiro blinked his eyes at the darkness of the warehouse hall he so rarely tread, and continued on in, whistling for Atlas.

The halls were dark and damp, filled with must and mold and the chittering of insects or the scratching of rats. They were also stocked rather plentiful with silver -- old silver machinery and old silver railings. It was all tarnished and rusty, but the clear patches of pure silver twinkled at Shiro, reflecting the white light of the moonbeams that shined in through the cracks and holes of the ceiling. Shiro, swallowing hard and wincing at the heavy scent of a demon's biggest weakness, continued forward, still calling and clapping for Atlas. He listened hard for whines or panting or maybe even a thump of her big stupid tail, but there was nothing but the dripping water and the scattering of spiders and rats.

Shiro scoured all about the basement, the halls, the field, and even some of the nearer outskirts of that forest -- but there was no Atlas. He was growing near despondent with worry as he made his way back into the warehouse, shoulders slumped with defeat. Shiro trudged his tired way into the bedroom, not even looking towards Lotor sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest on that stupid little mattress. He simply walked into the middle of the room, gave it one last nervous onceover, and then sank down into a slumped sort of sit on that hard, cement flooring.

"I can't find her anywhere," he said weakly, bringing a hand up to his face so he could anxiously chew on a talon or two. "She knows she isn't supposed to go into town without me... she would never. And if she did she would let me know. I... what am I going to do? What if something is wrong with her?" There was a sharp click from his nail, and Shiro turned to spit out a cracked off bit of his claw from his mouth. Shiro brought his hand down and studied his thumbnail before bringing it down to the floor and rubbing it against the coarse cement to try and file it down. Lotor attempted to speak, opening his mouth, but Shiro continued before he could.

"The only thing I can think of is Sendak taking her," Shiro muttered, swallowing hard. He flicked his head up to Lotor, even if he figured he wasn't being listened to anyways -- he was probably just boring Lotor with his fretfulness anyways. "He's done it before when I went below my soul count but... fuck, I have a higher soul count than ever with you. Why the fuck would he take Atlas?"  
"Can't you go ask him?" Lotor questioned, Feathers settled on the bed in front of him. "Return for a visit, see if he has Atlas? You'll get an answer that way." He wasn't sure how the underworld worked. He hadn't even had the free time to learn about the system of the heavens and how that would work. It wasn't like he could ask Shiro, either. Usually if he asked even one question about hell, Shiro would get touchy and defensive and shut down all questioning before it could start.

He wished he'd learned more while he could've. Ever since that trip to the library he'd begun noticing where his knowledge was lacking. He didn't know almost anything about human culture, he didn't know about demons or how they lived. All he knew about the heavens were from his experience. He couldn't even read in English with how the language had changed so drastically.

"Does my soul still count with such high value? And does it count before it's taken? Because you might have slipped under the soul count if my soul has yet to be included in the total."

Shiro bristled at the idea of simply going and speaking with Sendak, so he just disregarded the statement altogether, swallowing hard as he registered the last few questions. "You still have an angel's soul," he said, still filing the talon of his thumb on the stone floor beside him. "Otherwise our deal would be broken and you'd be in some serious shit." Shiro reached up his free hand and pushed his bangs back, thinking. "Souls don't count before they're taken, but my boss can still see how many I might be holding at a time. I'm sure he knows I ditched the human for something better -- he doesn't care if I get a little selfish and keep you for a bit. As long as you're tied to Hell, it's a win for him. He's probably bragging about it as we fucking speak. If he doesn't have my hound..."

He gave a huffed sort of sigh, pushing back up to his feet. He wavered a bit, stumbling backwards and catching himself with his heel, his head spinning a little as he regained his balance. Shiro was wasting too much energy -- he was wasting too much time. He should have started charging up his energy from the night's darkness to prepare for the next evening nearly hours ago, not wandering around silver and stompading throughout the forest, projecting the single call of 'Atlas, come here!' with all that magic he was supposed to be saving.

Despite that, however, Shiro steadied himself, and turned around, starting off towards the door in an uneven shamble, drearily pulling together a human appearance to help conceal himself. "I'm going into town to look for her," he said softly, a hand on his face and rubbing his heavy eyes. Shiro stopped by the door and leaned against it, turning around to face the watchful little angel. "If I'm not back don't worry. I'll probably drop off somewhere and sleep while I'm out. Place is yours. Don't throw a party or nothin'."

"Oh, but I'll be disappointing everybody I could have invited," Lotor said sarcastically over his shoulder upon fixing his attention back on Feather. "At least try not to be out too late and don't strain yourself. You're already weak as it is."

"Am not," Shiro muttered defensively before turning and making his exit without another word.

Without responding, Lotor listened to Shiro's footsteps leaving the room and scooped Feathers up, gently setting her down on his lap as he settled back on the bed. He had hours to kill before Shiro returned. With nothing to read, nothing to draw with, nothing to occupy himself with- he depended solely on Feathers to keep him from getting bored. He'd need to ask Shiro to get him some supplies when he had the energy again. He was sure that he'd earned it from everything he'd been doing. After all, he didn't want to be piercing his skin to feed Shiro's addiction every day for the next month. Some paper and pencils wasn't too much to bargain for.

Shiro shouldn't have teleported to town, but he did. After about seven minutes of walking, he found himself exhausted -- his muscles weary and his head heavy and his eyes fluttery -- so he gave into his magical inspired laziness and pulled together a good chunk of whatever was left of his power and simply appeared somewhere in the suburbs. The moment his feet touched pavement, Shiro's legs buckled and he fell slack into the pavement of the sidewalk, hissing at the knock of his knees against the pale, moonlight bathed cement. He nearly fell asleep right then and there, kneeling in the middle of some middle class suburb at nearly one o'clock in the morning, but Shiro snapped out of his drained stupor, and struggled up to his feet.

He called for Atlas, not caring who he woke or what ruckus he caused as he moved his way down the street. Every now and again a house would flick on its light somewhere around him and his shouts and a face would peer out at Shiro's stumbling form. He just scoffed and disregarded them, moving quickly to keep from involving the police or something of the sort. With whatever was left of his magic, Shiro reached out for his hound, trying to find her with the power of their connection alone...

Something tugged at his attention.

Despite Shiro's drained sort of disposition, he snapped up to attention, spinning around on his heel towards the familiar presence his magic had latched onto. "Atlas!" Shiro cried joyfully, a bright smile curling up at his lips. She was far away but... but she was there. Shiro started towards the connection, devoted to finding her and bringing her home before morning. He cut through lawns and snuck around pools and even had to climb over fences as he took the shortest pathway to his distant Hellhound, being sure to whisper out her name through the connection so she knew he was coming for her.

"Stupid, stupid dog," he muttered as he pushed his way past a scratchy bush of sharp twigs and thorns in someone's backyard. They cut at his clothes and even managed to scratch a very shallow cut into his hand, Shiro growing all the more irritated as he shifted his way through the brush. "What the fuck are you doing all the way out here, huh?"

There wasn't really an answer -- Shiro couldn't tell if it was because she was guilty or if... or if she just couldn't for some reason... but he hoped it wasn't the latter. All he knew was that the connection was much, much stronger the more he trudged on.

After about thirty minutes of his exhausted wandering, Shiro stumbled out of a backyard and into a clearing. Atlas was close -- very close. He figured, as he squinted his eyes out into the emptier space harbouring a parking lot and a steepled building, that she must have been somewhere inside the old, paint chipped structure that groaned sickly in the wind as though it had been nearing its own death. Shiro appreached it, rounding it so he could come across the front facing side, his breath panting in his chest as he moved. The moment he got a good look at the front of the building, Shiro felt his heart catch in his throat.

A church.

It was an old one. The church was fitted with a dark metal skeleton and clapboarded wooden panels that chipped and shuddered in the gusts of wind. Old, sun-bleached stain glass windows glimmered under the white shine of the night, faint purples and blues catching in the starshine. A long, white cross hung over the ancient white wood of the french doorway, shining out into the night and making Shiro's skin crawl. The plants around the old, groaning structure were all dead or dying -- flowers withered into brown cusps or grass puckered up into yellow blades.

Shiro stuck his hands into his pockets, running his eyes up and down the building before him. He couldn't go inside -- old or not, the holy ground would leech away all his power in a second. He'd be nothing but a weak, listless form of muscle bone and skin -- just something less than a human. But... but he had to go inside, didn't he?

Atlas was in there.

He could feel her so, so close but... but so entirely far away. She was stuck inside the walls of a holy structure, rendered powerless, mostly. Shiro shuddered at the idea of his strong Hellhound in such a state, his whole system feeling hurt at the idea. Shiro had to go in there... even if it was for a second to grab her and scram.

Shiro sighed and hung his head, shaking it back and forth as he prepared himself to break one of his golden rules."What are you doing in a fucking church, Attie?" he asked aloud, as he lifted his head.

"Maybe they wish to join the flock?"

Instantly, Shiro spun around on his heel, eyes wide and wild with threat as he searched for the owner of the voice that had hummed out from behind him. There stood a man -- a tall man -- with slender, pale features and old, icy eyes that glared at Shiro and his non existent soul under that vibrant moonlight. Shiro tensed and took a jumpy step back, raising up his arms in instinct -- but the man before him rose up his hands.

"Do not be alarmed," the man said, cocking his head. His voice was grating. Unsettling -- even for a demon, Shiro realized as he felt a soft fit of chills dart down his spine at the sound of it. "I do not wish to fight."

Shiro lowered his hands a little bit, but he did not let his posture slacken. "Who are you?" Shiro snapped, narrowing his eyes. "Why are you here in the middle of the fucking night?"

The man cocked his head. "This is where I come to pray and repent," he said simply. "I only live about five minutes away... Why are you here?"

Shiro scowled at him. "I'm looking for my... dog... she got out," he muttered, looking off to the side.

"I'm sorry," the man responded, watching Shiro with those strange fucking eyes of his. "You think she is here?"

"Yes," Shiro responded.

"Why? Such an odd place for a dog to run off to in the middle of the night, don't you think?"

The questions began to irk Shiro, feeling more like an interrogation than a stranger's concern. He took a step backwards, feeling the ominous presence of the church looming up behind him. "I just have a feeling," he said tightly.

"What kind of feeling?"

"Just a feeling, man..."

The man took a step forward... Shiro took another two backwards. And then another two when the man advanced. Soon he was just being pushed back by the tall man's creeping stride, Shiro's whole body erupting into chills at the feeling of the church and the sight of that gangly human slowly advancing on him...

"Would you like help?" the man asked.

"Can you leave me alone?" Shiro snapped back, swallowing hard. He moved backwards some more. Another cock the man's head.

"Why? Am I bothering you?"

"A little."

"Why?"

Shiro grit his teeth a little, scowling hard at the man before him. "You're fucking creepy, dude."

A soft grin spread about the old man's face, old, glazed eyes glittering like mad with the reflection of his church. "There is no reason to be afraid or me or the flock, child," he said in an eerie sort of sweetness. "Only the wicked should fear us."

Before he knew it, Shiro's back thumped against the wood of those old, decrepit doors. A flush of something ugly and painful shot through Shiro's system at the contact, his whole body instantly falling slack. Shiro's knees buckled, his head bobbed, his tenses eased away as the energy was forcefully pulled from his body -- the feeling only inspiring a weak whimper from his lips as he collapsed down to his knees, looking down at his hands as they transformed back into their clawed appearance, the magic concealing them simply whisked away. Shiro shot his head up at the man, parting his lips to try wildly to explain himself, but finding his voice lost in the cackling laughter that suddenly filled his ears.

"There you are, vile thing," the man quipped, eyes burning in the night. "Master Honerva will be most pleased by your arrival, demon. She knew your monster would draw you in to us like bait on a hook."

Shiro's eyes were wide with shock as the words processed through his pounding head. Realization misted thickly into his skull, however, and Shiro let his eyes roll back out of frustration, weak, whimper lined wheezes panting through his lips as he glared at the man before him. "Exorcists?" he asked, spitting the word out as if it had been poisonous. "You're an exorcist, aren't you?"

"No, no," the man said softly, shaking his head. He drew out a black canteen marked with a silver cross, unscrewing the cap. "We're something better. We don't exorcise your vile kind."

Shiro eyed the canteen warily, swallowing hard as he tried to gather up enough strength to stand. There was nothing there, of course, as he laid there against the holy walls of the church, its presence leaching out more and more of his strength as the moments ticked on. "Then what the fuck do you think you're going to do to me?" Shiro snapped, his tone slurred. "What do you do to us?"

"We kill you, of course," the man said gently, holding the canteen over Shiro's upturned head. "But not before making sure you repent for your sins... you may want to relax. This will sting a little bit."

Before Shiro could even process the statement, the man turned over the canteen, and out the water went... but it wasn't just water, was it?

No. No it wasn't. It was Holy water, actually. It wasn't just water. Shiro knew that from the first drop that even graced against his skin.

His scream had been so loud, he was sure the whole town could hear it, echoing out into the night...

And it hadn't escaped Lotor's attention. He'd heard the screaming, the familiar agony that tried uprooting some repressed memories, bringing with it a sudden wave of trauma and anxiety. Nonetheless he latched onto it. He took ahold of the sound to trace back to its source, trying to find where those agonising screams had been coming from. With his unknown energy he wasn't exactly sure how easy it would be to teleport but he tried to repeat what he used to do, simply closing his eyes to focus on the sound. As sickening as the scream was, he latched onto it, using the chains to further strengthen the bond. He held it, gripping onto it with both hands even as the pain seared through his skin. It got louder the more he focused on it, though, the burning in his palms growing as the screaming got louder and by the time it got unbearable he'd opened his eyes and- There he stood.

In the distance, perhaps a couple of miles away, stood a church. Tall and gleaming, ghastly in the moonlight. It was intimidating, towering over a remote array of houses yet seeming so alienated by them all. Lotor glanced to his hands, red and blistered. Burned, but they would heal in due time. It was safer to continue on foot from here, and even though it may have been too dark to be recognised as non-human, he didn't want to take the risk. He poured a little excess energy into transforming his appearance and began on route to the church, sprinting. His lungs would burn and his legs would ache but the haunting scream still rung through his ears and that was his priority.

 

Finding out what had happened to Shiro and getting him somewhere safe.

Shiro didn't know where he was. He couldn't see -- the pain was blinding, the Holy water was blinding. He didn't feel anything but the burn of that substance as it trickled down his face and neck, searing at his skin and ripping away his common thought as that torturous sting took over. Shiro didn't even know he was inside the church until he heard a harsh bark somewhere from his right -- a heavy yet dull noise beneath the blood roaring in his ears and his own whimpers rising through his twisted, cringing lips.

The man must have dragged him inside. When Shiro fluttered his eyes open, the world blurry and bleak around him, he found himself staring up at the steepled ceiling, beneath an old, iron chandelier holding dripping wax candles that flickered dully in Shiro's split vision. Pain seared about his face where the water had hit him, the skin aching with flitting pulses of fire with the fluttering of his heart. Shiro tried to reach a hand up to nurture it, but he couldn't move. He tried to say something, anything, but all he could manage was a groan. He tipped his head back, throat bobbing weakly as he looked for his attacker, eyes squinted and flaming with pain between each fluttering blink.

A collection of people stood at the front of the church, all watching him lie and writhe on the floor. Shiro watched as the man walked forward, stepping over the white painted lines of a circle that Shiro was likely contained in. Devil's Trap, his weary mind concluded, eyes falling to a dismal close. There was another desperate bark from his right again, and a rustling of heavy chains. Shiro managed to lift his head a bit at the sound, eyes rolling weakly in his skull as he looked around for his hound. She was tucked up in the corner, each foot bound in thick chains. His head thumped back down on the ground, hot, painful panic beginning to coil up about his stomach and chest.

He was screwed.

Footsteps echoed from behind him. Shiro tipped his head up, watching a group of three step their way towards him. Attempted to scowl, but all that he presented was a tired frown and a pained set of eyes as he watched the blurry shapes of humans approach him.

"It's disgusting," one of them said in a sickened tone, drawing Shiro's attention.

"He was disguised as a human when I found him outside," a familiar voice answered. "You were right, Honerva, he came for his pet monster."

A new voice rumbled out, more chilling and more cruel than any of the others as it curled past sneering lips. "Am I ever wrong?" the voice hummed, the tapping of shoes joining it as a shadow rounded about Shiro's listless form.

Something hot and incredibly painful touched against Shiro's shoulder, causing him to cry out in sudden alarm. It was silver -- the feeling was familiar. The moment the pained utterance slipped from Shiro's lips, the touch pulled away, a soft hum of contemplation joining the buzzing of Shiro's ears.

"He's weak. Weaker than he should be. Even in a church," the voice -- the one Shiro guessed belonged to Hoverva, said in a slick sort of tone. "We got lucky. The night before the Full Moon, and we catch a demon who wasted all his limited energy before we even meet him... very lucky..."

Another prod with the silver. Another shout from Shiro, his eyes closing tight, screwing together so hard colors began to dance behind his eyelids -- colors of greens and blues and even hints of flashing yellows.

"Let... l... let me go," Shiro said, barely able to conjure up the sounds from his throat, let alone letting them roll past his lips. "I'll kill you... let me g-"

A splash of liquid agony cut him off -- the man from before had simply spilled some over him, the Holy water sprinkling about his throat and inspiring another blood curdling scream. Shiro managed to roll over on his side, heaving for air and uttering out breathless whimpers as he tried to let the pain pass, listening to the echo of his tortured howling ring through the church -- nearly shaking it with its power. Atlas thrashed in her corner, teeth gnashing at the rattling chains.

"That has quite the effect on him," the faceless voice from earlier -- the one who called him disgusting -- mused. "Give me the canteen. I want to try."

"Easy, my child," Honerva chided. "All in good time."

Shiro gave a splutter of a sound, shifting one of his arms to try and push up. He failed, of course, but his determination didn't falter, angry gasps wheezing through his clenched teeth as he tensed his muscles and strained to try and get up to at least his knees. "Fuck... off..." he whimpered, voice breaking a little. His whole body trembled violently as it worked, but in a few moments time his muscles gave up and Shiro fell listless against the hard, wooden floor. He gave a strained whimper, shaking his head, but continued on anyways. "Let me go."

He clenched his eyes at the sound of sloshing water, but that man must have been stopped before he could overturn his canteen again -- Shiro felt no pain.   
"All in good time," came the repeated phrase from that chilling voice.

There was the sound of rustling clothes as a figure beside him kneeled down, and Shiro flinched mightily at the feel of icy cool fingers against his chin. The hand that held his face turned his head with ease, Shiro barely even able to fight it as he was pulled to look his captor in the eyes. Two, rather striking golden eyes met his own, gazing at him intently -- studying the curves of his features and the pained terror in his gaze. The woman who studied him had a thin face with prominent cheekbones, her skin pulled tightly across her facial structure, hollowing her cheeks. Heavy bags stretched down from the inner corners of her eyes, and from the other corners, oddly, were red markings that pulled all the way down to her chin, passing over her thin lips. Her darker tone was washed out and waxy. Her white hair fell down over her shoulders, curled up in split ends and ratty knots. Her eyes held the look of someone obsessed as she ran them up and down Shiro's pitiful form.

"Champion," she murmured. "We meet again."

Shiro didn't know why the name sliced into his stomach like a knife... but it did.

It terrified him so much he couldn't even help but whimper, his bottom lip quivering. Shiro closed his eyes and weakly tried to tug away -- but to no avail. "I... I don't know you..." he said sharply, baring his teeth. "Let me go."

"You don't remember," Honerva mused. "Of course. That is what happens when you go to Hell, isn't it, Champion?"

Shiro gave a gentle growl. "Don't call me that," he said darkly.

"Why not?" Honerva asked, cocking her head. "Does it make you uncomfortable? Spark any old memories?"

He glared at her, trembling with rage along with all of those other emotions of pure turmoil. "No," he said in another sharp growl. "Because if you do, I'll rip your fucking head off."

Honerva watched him for a moment or so. With slow motions, she reached her hand up for the canteen, the sight making Shiro's eyes widen and his lips part to protest. Before he could even get a word out, Honerva tipped the bottle over the spilled the entirety of its contents over Shiro's chest -- seeping the foul stuff into his clothes along with his skin. Shiro screamed until he couldn't scream anymore -- until his throat ran out of his voice and his lungs ran out of his air. His screams of torment echoed through the church, trapped there like ghosts until he laid there weeping, head released and tilted to the side.

Shiro wasn't so sure anyone heard them anymore.

But Lotor did. He was drawing close to the doors by now, slowed to a walk so his heavy footsteps wouldn't attract attention and to recover at least a little before he did anything risky. He approached the door and began slowly pushing it open.

His legs burned. His throat was raw and dry and his lungs felt like they were aflame but he had more to focus on than how weak his body felt after such physical exertion. He kept quiet, though, his breathing even enough for him to no longer be panting and heaving in breaths.

His gaze scoured the area. Nobody was nearby and reaching out with his energy didn't expose anyone hidden. Nobody was within the nearest five metres to him, so he could kneel where he was and peer around the corner. In fact, nobody was near him at all- they all stood by the altar, blocking Lotor's view from whatever intrigued them but telling him more than enough. He didn't need to see Shiro to know he was there, to hear his ragged breaths, to sense the weakness of his energy. He hoped Shiro could tell that he was there. He was sure Atlas had picked up on his scent by now, too, but he couldn't be sure. All he knew was that neither of them were giving him away of they had seen him. Good.

He didn't have many plans for this kind of situation. In fact, he didn't have a clue what to do but from the sounds of those screams, they were putting Shiro through excruciating agony, tormenting and torturing him and Lotor didn't know how they did it in such a way that made those animalistic screams tear free from his throat. The only thing that he could possibly do in a situation like this is fight to protect Shiro. He wasn't sure if he'd be in a better or worse place without Shiro but it wasn't relevant. Shiro cared about him and he could tell that much. He wasn't going to stand by and allow him to face this treatment without at least trying to stand up for him.

For now, though, as he began creeping closer to the crowd and hiding around and behind the pews, keeping out of sight. He needed to listen. He needed to have at least a little understanding of the situation to do anything. He didn't know what these people were capable of and attacking blindly was as foolish as suicide.

"Master," the man started in his scratchy voice, taking back his canteen from Honerva when she held it out to him. Shiro could barely hear him -- the ringing of his ears and the roaring of his blood were both too loud. "Have you met this demon before?"

"The time will come when I answer your questions," she said simply, the tone of her voice making sure such a topic invited no more discussion.

Shiro just ignored it, breathing his heavy gasps through his clenched teeth.

Honvera stood slowly from her knees, watching Shiro writhe before her with a look made equal from both fascination and disgust. The heads of her flock followed her as she moved over to the pulpit, dragging her silver tipped walking cane behind her as she strode. "This is a fine catch, my children," she said, reaching over her pulpit to get ahold of something. "This vile creature has walked our Earth for three-thousand years. He drinks the blood of men and steals corrupts their souls for fun. He is as merciless in death as he was in life -- and believe me when I say there was never a more ruthless killer than the Champion back when he had his soul. He has always been tainted. The Heavens have not been able to take control of him, so it is our sacred duty to clean up the garbage the angels cannot pick up." Honerva found what she had been looking for, and drew it back slowly, the candlelight catching across its shining surface.

A blade of pure silver. Sharpened so precisely it could cut the finest hair straight down the middle. It would kill Shiro in an instant.

But Shiro didn't notice it. His foggy, spinning head had been focusing on her booming sermon, the words twisting and swirling about his pounding skull as though they were being whisked away in a whirlpool of despair -- around and around and around until it would drain into Shiro's lungs and just drown him. As merciless in death as he was in life. There was never a more ruthless killer. Shiro settled his eyelids down into a defeated close, sluggish tears of pain and... something else... slipping down the sides of his numb face. Shiro listened to the footsteps until they stood just beside him, his breath picking up a little more when the familiar rustling of robes whispered in his ear.

"Demon," Honerva said, brandishing her blade. When Shiro did not look at her, she pressed the tip of it against Shiro's cheek, and dragged it down slowly to the curve of his jaw, causing Shiro to cry out as his skin split and burned, and his blood began to bead and spill. Atlas was thrashing in her corner, barking like mad, her eyes like fire as she tugged and pulled at her chains -- but it was no use.

"Demon," Honerva repeated. That time, Shiro turned his head and fluttered open his eyes, gritting his teeth and weakly flashing his fangs at her in a final act of his own defiance. She just regarded him with a huff of disgust. "Demon, do you repent? Or do you need more persuading? I've always liked you... I'll be merciful and give you the choice to end it all now, if you'd like."

Shiro looked at her for a moment or so through narrow, heavy-lidded eyes, still trembling and still searching for a calm breath. After a moment or so of trying to find his words, Shiro simply lifted his head up the most he could, and, without thinking, spat at her. Flecks of black speckled spittle splattered across Honerva's face, the action inciting a heavy gasp from the clergy of psychopaths around him. Shiro's head fell back, knocking against the ground with a thump.

"I'd rather... rot in Hell again... then let you win... you bitch," Shiro seethed between deep breaths. Despite his words and despite his actions, cold, electrifying dread pumped through his body all the way from the base of his chest, the fear spreading its icy tendrils up his throat and down into his stomach. He shut his eyes and waited for the dose of Holy water, gritting his teeth behind his bloody lips.

Honerva held up a hand at the man from before, the one who was just advancing forwards, another canteen of Holy water in his hands as he unscrewed the cap. When he stopped, she brought that hand to her face and wiped downwards, flicking off Shiro's spit into the ground with a snap of her wrist. "That was a mistake, Shiro," she said simply. "Why would you do that?"

"Because you're... you're a crazy bitch," Shiro muttered through his wheezes and his whimpers. He didn't ask how she knew his name.

"Don't you wish to die?" she asked him, disregarding his answer. "No more chains. No more jobs. What do you fear, Champion? The nothingness?" Honerva brought her hand to Shiro's chest, unbuttoning his Holy water sodden shirt and tossing the two flaps of it aside. Shiro's bare, scarred chest, still stinging with the touch of the Holy water, open to her and her knife. "The unknown?" She pressed the side of the blade against Shiro's stomach, not cutting him, but instead letting the silver burn at his flesh. "Whatever it is, it must hurt less than this."

Shiro bit back his sounds of pain as best he could, but soon the searing of his skin -- the eating away at his flesh and his nerves -- became too much. He laid his head back and growled out an angry sounding shout, breath picking up its pace yet again. After a few moments of that, Honerva drew the blade back, studying the raw mark branded into Shiro's stomach. There was a heavy silence filled with the growling of a Hellhound and the pathetic whimpering of a demon. It lasted a good thirty seconds or so before she broke it... but it felt like an eternity to Shiro and his spinning brain.

"Macidus," Honerva said, standing again. She moved back, flicking her head up to meet the man's, Macidus's, attentive stare. "I think the creature might be thirsty. Give him a drink from your Holy water canteen, won't you?"

Shiro couldn't help but give a tight whimper at the phrase, a terrible feeling of helplessness sinking over him.

Macidus gave a cruel snicker, a soft 'of course, master' slipping from his smirking lips as he made his way over to Shiro. Shiro tried to turn his head away, but a firm hand took a harsh hold of Shiro's face and turned it back so his wide eyes faced the ceiling. Shiro's chest heaved quickly with panic. His heart pounded in his chest. Shiro tired to fight the inevitable, but his attempts were all useless. There was the clink of a cap as it hit the floor, and soon Macidus's hand was wrenching open Shiro's jaw, the canteen hovering over Shiro's lips. Atlas barked and howled, her nose pointed towards somewhere in the pews, her barks desperate and demanding -- Shiro couldn't tell why but... but then again he didn't care. All he cared about was the malicious glint Macidus, that vile, vile human, held in his excited eyes as he began to tip the canteen over his open mouth-

He jammed his eyes shut and waited for the agony.

And yet, no sooner than when the smallest drop began to spill did Lotor stand, looking at the crowd from the aisle.  
"Leave the demon alone!" he shouted, raising his voice as he looked at them. He hadn't recognised any of the voices more than just some subtle tingling sensation that they were familiar. He watched as the 'flock', as Macidus had called it when talking with Shiro, all turned to see him. He could see in little gaps between them that Shiro lay on the floor but he kept his gaze fixed solely on the crowd.

Murmurs began to stir. It had slipped Lotor's notice until now but even the simple act of entering the church had stripped him of his mask. He was no longer able to conceal how he naturally looked, so his talons, his halo, the horns jutting out of his head, it was all on display. He bared his sharp teeth, watching as Macidus began raising the canteen again, still watching Lotor. Like a cat, slowly pushing something toward the end of the table, he was very slowly pushing his luck.

"If even one more drop touches his skin then I'll defile this church!" he shouted, gritting his teeth. The idea of tainting such a holy place was the one thing able to convince Macidus to pull the canteen back. Lotor began to approach them, watching as they parted just enough to reveal Honerva.

Her long silver hair hung down her shoulders, her gaze weary and old, full of torment and malice and emotion, all kinds of human things. It took her a few moments to process who stood before her- the short hair and the demonic alterations to his appearance had made him almost unfamiliar- but as soon as it seemed to click her eyes widened. Lotor didn't notice this, still striding down the aisle toward the gathering. In fact, he didn't notice her at all, not noticing her importance amongst the group nor how she held the dagger that was to be used to end Shiro's life. "You will release him from the binds," he continued as his eyes flickered to and met with Shiro's. "And we, including the hound, will leave without harming anyone or anything. Refusal will result in the use of brute force even though I am opposed to it. This is your first and only chance for a peaceful negotiation." He stopped where he stood by the stairs to the altar, his eyes still fixed on the demon on the floor. "What do you say?"

Honerva watched Lotor with wide eyes, her system star struck at the contorted image of a boy she used to know so well. She recovered, however, and held her hand out towards Macidus, who reluctantly pulled his hand back from the slackening Shiro. Shiro only had a loose grasp on the situation — his mind was spinning and the world was flashing, but he heard Lotor's voice. He heard Lotor's words, and felt a burst of warm hope flush through the bitter tendrils of dread in his chest, his head falling back against the floor as his muscles relaxed. A shaky smile curled up his lips, his eyes fluttering to a close.

"Took you... took you long enough, Lotor," he said weakly through his pants and whines.

Honerva gave a scowl at the simple phrase, gripping tighter to the blade in her hands, her hateful eyes trained on the demon before they snapped back up to Lotor. "Well this..." she started in an icy sort of voice, raising up her free hand and gesturing the scene before her. "This was quite unexpected." Her stare was pinned onto Lotor, her moments slow as she strode her tense way forward. Honerva stopped when she stood beside Shiro, watchful eyes running Lotor up and down. His gaze fixed onto her, finally, and the sight of her caused him to tense, his eyes widening for just a moment before he forced himself to relax. He grit his teeth a little as she spoke.

"I heard rumors of an angel falling from Heaven, but I never imagined it would be you, my prince," she said, shaking her head. There was remorse in her voice. Maybe even a deep pitch of soft pain. Her eyes dragged down to Shiro, a terrible disgust flickering about the chilling gold gaze. "It was him, wasn't it? He did this to you?" Lotor didn't dare to respond.

"Master," Macidus piped up meekly from behind her. "If I may ask, what are you talking about? Who is this... creature? Is he a threat?"

Honerva sneered and dragged her hateful stare from Shiro, looking back up to Lotor. "He is an angel," she said, the simple statement drawing a gasp from the flock, the group shuffling a little, murmurs and whispers rising up from the gathering. Honerva lifted her hand, however, and they all silenced. "A corrupted angel. This demon tainted him..." Anger curled at her tone, distorting it into something that made the atmosphere darken a few good shades.

"Why defend him?" she asked Lotor, turning the blade in her hands. "Don't you want him to pay for his sins? After what he did to you? His death won't break your bonds from Hell, but it will put your soul at rest. It may redeem some of your own sins. Let me kill the wicked, Lotor. Do the right thing — don't let his darkness cloud your judgement any longer, child."

"It is not his darkness which taints me, witch!" Lotor's voice was a little louder than expected, echoing in the church. The outburst surprised the flock, not much himself. "It was the demon who saved me from the corrupt afterlife I was in. It was the demon who sought me out when i was trapped and saved me from an eternity of solitude and agony. Release him." He took a step toward her. "If you truly wish to kill the wicked then I'll watch you drive the blade through your own heart."

Another step closer.

He wanted it to be over. He wanted to leave with Shiro and Atlas to return to the warehouse so that he could nurse Shiro back to health. He didn't want to deal with this monstrous woman or her cultish following.

"Leave him. Release him and we will not return to visit you again."

Honerva cocked her head, brow furrowing a little. "You don't remember him? How odd..." she mused in a silent little murmur, the statement more for herself than anyone else. Her lips parted as if she wished to continue... but she stopped herself, shaking her head. Honerva looked down at Shiro turning the blade in her hand again, heavy thought turning about behind her eyes as she watched the panting demon.

"I don't wish to fight you, Lotor," she said after a long moments pause. She knelt down, and placed the tip of her blade against the concrete, dragging it across the painted stone — breaking the Devil's trap. The flock gave a protesting sort of murmur. Shiro, in turn, gave a deep sigh, some of the pressure in his chest releasing at the breaking of the symbol. Honerva stood, watching Lotor tightly as she slipped the blade somewhere in the folds of her cloak. "You can leave, and you can take the vile beasts with you." She took a good few steps backwards, scowling darkly as she moved.

The group behind her shifted nervously, eying Shiro with wide, cautious stares as they backed away from the broken Devil's trap. Of course, Shiro was too weak to even push himself up to a sit, let alone leave the circle and go on a killing rampage... but the frail humans behind Honerva still bubbled and whispered to one another at the idea of his freedom.

"You must accept my terms, however," Honerva said as Lotor began moving towards the demon on the floor. "Next time, we won't be nearly as willing. Watch your filthy pet closely, Lotor, or he may find himself in our grasp again." She straightened up, and locked eyes with the corrupted angel before her. "This is one of your worst mistakes, my child. He will betray you in a matter of time. It's what he is. You can't tame monsters, Lotor. I hope you remember that when he sends your soul down to rot in Hell."

"My soul is already due in hell," he dismissed her idly, approaching to wrap one arm around Shiro and pull him up. Shiro gave a sharp whimper at the change, his muscles tensing up as Lotor pulled him from the floor. Lotor whistled and Atlas dashed over, freed from her chains the moment the symbol had been broken. Lotor set Shiro upon her back and began to pace away from the group. "And if anyone should know that you cannot tame monsters, it's you."

 

One hundred questions were running through his mind as he turned back from the altar, latching onto the familiar sense of home. It was one hell of a strain to teleport a demon and his hellhound when travelling back but it was nothing he couldn't recover from. His feet settled on the warehouse floor and he approached the bedroom, Atlas trailing at his feet. She whined softly as she curled up on the bed, nudging Shiro off of her back to curl up around him. Lotor looked at the two- noticing Feather was sitting on the bed by Atlas. He was quick to scoop her up, setting the kitten on the floor beside her food bowl and getting Atlas some food so she could regain her strength a little quicker. He turned his eyes to Shiro, a small cloth appearing in his hand, cold and wet. He placed on his forehead.

"Oh, Shiro," he said softly as he brushed his hair from his forehead. "How do you always get into those situations?"

Shiro flinched when Lotor had touched him with that cloth, but then he was graced with a relieving sensation of cold fabric instead of the searing agony he had prepared himself for. A strained whimper rose from his lips, his eyes screwed to a tight close, as he felt the world around him. It took him a good second or so to realize he was in his warehouse, on his mattress, pressed up closely with his Hellhound. He gave another sort of groan, wincing before he fluttered his eyes open — the dark, damp atmosphere feeling much better than the bright, burning one from before. A blurry Lotor leaned over him, wiping at his forehead with that cloth. Shiro gave a soft shudder and lead his head back, trying to iron out his breathing as he processed Lotor's words.

"That's not fair," he whispered, shaking his head. His voice was croaky and scratchy from screaming. "That's the... the first time I got caught by fucking... whatever the hell they were... cut me some slack..."

Despite his smart words, Shiro's tone was just as broken as he felt. His eyes still stung with tears and his body still shook and quivered with those racking tremors of his. Shiro, without the power of the church leeching away at his energy, found enough strength to bring his arm up around Atlas's neck, holding onto her to try and settle the slamming of his heart or the whirling of his head. Traces of fear still twisted their ways about his chest, making his fluttering lungs feel breathless as he inhaled the cool, musty air of his warehouse. Words and past pains and the ghosts of his terror still misted about his system, hanging heavy in his mind and tremulous body. 

Lotor smiled fondly at him and cupped his cheek. He pressed a delicate kiss to Shiro's forehead, moving the cloth away just to press his lips to his cold skin. He studied his face, checking for every little giveaway and telltale sign of hindered recovery or of strained muscles so he could figure out some way of helping.  
"Maybe I can forgive you just this once," Lotor said quietly. "But don't let this happen again. I don't want to kill an entire religious following." He sighed a little, scooping up Feathers and settling down on the bed beside Shiro. As Atlas took up most of the room they were squished together but Lotor didn't mind. Shiro looked too exhausted to care.

"Mm," Shiro hummed weakly, mindlessly turning around and curling into Lotor's body, too tired to care how drawn he was to Lotor's warmth.

After a few moments of thinking, Lotor pricked his thumb with one of his talons and offered it to Shiro. His hand hovered just in front of Shiro's lips, one shimmering pearl of blood slowly dripped from his fingertip and spilt onto Shiro's lips.

"Here," he said quietly. "You need to regain your strength. This should help. Take as much as you need."

The second that drop met Shiro's tongue, a shudder of relief passed through him. That mark on his stomach instantly began to blister over, the bleeding stanching up into scabs — weeks of healing just instantly nurturing the previously raw wound. The burning of his skin ceased, as did the pounding of his head and the blurriness of his vision. Shiro blinked, licked some more of Lotor's blood from his lips, and let out a great sigh of release.

"Thank you..." he murmured softly, curling into Lotor a little more — his head leaning into Lotor's chest. Lotor's smell filled his nose... the scent alluring... calming... addicting. Shiro breathed in deeply, holding in Lotor's aura. "Thanks for saving me. You didn't have to... you probably shouldn't have..."

Shiro's eyes welled up. He didn't know why, but they did. He pushed a little more into Lotor's chest, shutting his eyes and squeezing them tight. "She was right," he breathed. "I'm going to betray you. It's inevitable — it's who...- what I am, Lotor. It's what... what she said... You should have just let her get on with it. It would have been better for the both of us..."

The sudden clinginess was surprising enough but this earnestly sweet treatment made Lotor's heart flutter and his chest suddenly felt light. A small smile curled onto his lips, his fond gaze fixing on Shiro as he began coaxing his fingers through his hair.  
"To allow them to kill you? So that you can disappear and I can transfer to hell without anyone to guide me? Without a familiar face who didn't beat and abuse me?" Even with the heavy topic of abuse, his smile didn't disappear. It faltered, sure, but it didn't disappear. "Why would I do that? You're far more important to me than you realise."

Shiro shook his head, leaning into Lotor's hand the best he could as it ran up through his hair, toying with it like he had done those few weeks ago. He was sure Lotor wouldn't be able to make him purr again -- Shiro's body still throbbed and his system was whirling with an impossible amount of inner turmoil, he wouldn't be able to relax enough -- but the touches felt nice. Lotor felt nice. Shiro was too tired to care how touchy he was being -- how pathetic he must have seemed. He just craved Lotor's contact, their closeness wrapping him up in a veil of foreign comfort.

Angel or half angel or whatever he had been... there was no denying how perfectly Lotor's aura seemed to calm him. Shiro just wished he knew why.

"I'm not important," he murmured, still shaking his head. "You can say what you want to try and cheer me up but... I know how much you hate it here. With me. The only relevance I have are those chains. The chains I put on you..." Shiro gave a soft sigh, his hot eyes closed to keep from letting any of his mortifying tears spill.

Shiro focused on Lotor's scent, letting Lotor's power just draw the words from his lips -- like it always did whenever they were that close or whenever he was that vulnerable. "Truth is," he started, swallowing hard, "I'm tired, Lotor. I might be afraid to die but I'm tired of this life. I'm tired of the job and I'm tired of the pain. I'm tired of being vile, Lotor... of being a monster... Honerva was right. I need to be taken off this Earth -- I've been here too long. Me staying here is selfish, isn't it? But I'm supposed to be selfish... but I don't want to be... Fuck, it all just hurts my head."

Shiro bottom lip trembled. He took his arm up and wrapped it around Lotor -- using his torso to hold and to ground ground himself instead of the snoozing Atlas. "They should have killed me. Hell, you should have killed me. Then we wouldn't even have a chance to be in this situation," he muttered, voice breaking a little at the gently you. "I'm sorry I talked my way out of it."

"Just shut up," Lotor muttered softly, holding Shiro close to his chest and running his fingers through his hair, sure to muffle the use of his angel powers so they were ineffective. "Get some rest, Shiro. We'll discuss this when you're healthy again."

He settled down, lying Shiro's head upon his chest and coaxing his fingers through his hair. A few stray kisses were pressed to the top of his head through his hair- just to soothe him a little more- before his eyes fluttered closed. Lotor was close to falling asleep, cradling Shiro to his chest. He wasn't sure if Shiro was still conscious or not.

He was just relieved that he was safe.


	16. Recovery

Shiro slept for three days.

He didn't know he slept that long, of course. Shiro simply drifted off beside Lotor to the touch of his hands in his hair and the warmth of his body and the pleasing nature of his smell -- he didn't know how much time had passed between then and when he fluttered open his crusted, groggy eyes, his consciousness finally pooling back into his weary system.

The warehouse was dark when he awoke, which meant either all the makeshift curtains were drawn or it was simply just night. He was glad for that -- glad the light couldn't hurt his eyes, both feeling puffy and tired as he reached up a sluggish hand to rub at them. Soft aches pinched at his skin and muscles as he shifted up into a slouched sort of sit in the empty, his head pulsing with a dull thrum of pain. He was tired. Drained -- it took his scrambled head a moment or so to catch up with reality and with the present. Once he remembered, however, Shiro's eyes sank down to a tired close, and he leaned back into the bed, his cheeks flushed a little pink.

He tried to ignore the thoughts of his own pitiful display from before, and went to inspect his wounds instead. One of his hands tentatively snaked down his side, making contact with the sore blister that silver knife had burned into his skin. He didn't even have to see it to know it would scar -- just the easy brushing over with his fingertips confirmed he'd add another guarish looking mark to his collection. Shiro's hand trailed up his body all the way to his face, touching at his numbing skin. Lotor's had taken away the patchy red marks the Holy water had painted him with, but the itching ghost of those burns still remained -- it would stay for a few days, if Shiro remembered correctly. His throat burned and his head hurt and his lips were chapped and cracked. Shiro gave a bitter sigh to himself, wanting to get up and go visit the water pump outside, but not feeling up to it. The idea of standing made him feel sick.

Shiro fluttered open his eyes again and looked about the room. It was empty aside from Feathers, who was napping on a bundle of blankets over in the corner. He rolled his eyes and turned his head back so he could watch the ceiling, wishing for Atlas... or maybe even wishing for Lotor, if he could admit such a thing. For a moment or so he thought about calling out for company -- his heart felt strangely heavy in his chest... he wanted to distract himself -- but instead he settled for just trying to fall back to sleep. Shiro curled over on his side, bringing up his knees a bit so he could preserve his warmth under that thin little blanket Lotor must have laid over him. He closed his eyes and turned his head into a pillow he didn't even know or think he owned, wondering just what Lotor and Atlas were doing without him.

Lotor was outside of the warehouse by the time Shiro woke up. He was playing with Atlas, helping her to exercise and making sure she was back to full health. The best thing for her to do was exercise frequently, eat plenty, and relax. Lotor was roughhousing with her, having a surprising amount of strength for an angel who wasn't supposed to use brute force for any situation. He'd dodge and duck and roll away from attempted attacks. When he didn't dodge, he'd grab ahold of her paws or her muzzle and hold her back with only a little struggle. Sometimes he'd be able to pin her to the floor to scratch her stomach before she'd roll over and kick him away.

He had noticed the slight surge in demonic energy halfway through their current session. Atlas was the first to react, rolling to her feet and barking excitedly at Lotor. He'd held up a hand to her to say he was done playing, expecting her to nudge her nose against it before returning inside but this time she just circled him and bit down on the back of his shirt. Lotor laughed a little, though he was clearly a little unsettled. He'd just opened his mouth to speak when she began dashing back inside of the warehouse, knocking the door open and shooting through to the bedroom. She dropped Lotor and began jumping around and over the bed, barking louder and louder when she realised that Shiro was actually awake. She gave no hints that she'd calm down, yapping and barking and jumping onto the bed- though she was careful not to land on Shiro or Lotor as he got off of the floor. Shiro clenched his eyes a little and groaned, giving out a deep sigh of discontentment. He didn't lean up or open up his eyes, he just curled up a little more, grumbling to himself.

Lotor sat down on the bed beside Shiro. His fingers ran through his hair a little to brush it from his forehead.

"You're awake," he stated quite bluntly. "You've been asleep for days now, Shiro. I'm relieved that you're okay." He offered up a smile as he looked down at Shiro. He could already tell that he was much healthier- he could no longer sense the pain or the weakness that Shiro used to be so overwhelmed by.

Shiro fluttered his eyes open again, feeling his breath hitch a little at Lotor's touch upon his forehead. "Lotor," he said thoughtlessly. His voice was croaky and tired, still a little scratchy. Shiro, groggily, lifted his head, furrowing his brow as he looked up at Lotor beside him. "Days? I've been asleep for days? How many?"

"Three," Lotor answered, paying attention to all the symptoms of illness or weakness Shiro still exhibited. The sore throat, the weak voice, the hazy look in his eyes and how long it took for him to respond to various things- loud noises, being spoken to, and being touched. "Three days bedridden. I've been taking care of Atlas in your absence, though, so you shouldn't worry too much."

He turned away from Lotor's hand, sliding his elbows back and pushing himself up into a tired slouch. "Well, fuck," he muttered, sighing heavily. Shiro reached up a hand and rubbed his eyes, shaking his head a little. "That explains why I still feel weak... I need to recharge..." He turned his head to look out one of the windows, eyes narrowed as he watched the weak twinkle of stars behind the thin blanketing of clouds. Shiro pushed up a little more, gritting his teeth at the sting of his wound. His hand pressed against the raw, scabbed up skin, hunching over a little once he leaned himself up.

"Those humans really kicked my ass," he muttered after a few moments of quiet. A gentle blush rose to his cheeks, fanged teeth biting at the inside of his cheek. "I... damnit. That's so embarrassing. Please add that to the list of things never to mention again."

"It wasn't your fault." Lotor helped Shiro to sit up, coaxing him upright and settling him with his back against the wall so that he wouldn't exert himself trying to sit up. "It was far from your fault. The humans stole Atlas to lure you out while you were at your weakest. You resisted despite being drained of energy and that's a rather admirable feat."

He whistled and snapped his fingers, watching at Atlas finally settled down and dropped onto the bed with her head on Shiro's lap. Shiro's hand found her head, and he pet her idly, shaking his head a little at Lotor's weak attempt to buff his dignity. Lotor settled beside him. "In fact, I'd not have been able to save you if I wasn't already... familiar... with one of those present. I'm glad I was able to save you, though. And I'm glad that I arrived in time to save you from experiencing any severe damage. The wounds from the holy water will heal soon and the dagger should leave only a small scar. Take your time to heal and regain your energy before doing anything outrageous, though. Alright? I don't want to end up peeling you off of the floor and I definitely don't want to save your life from another religious dispute."

Shiro snorted weakly, swallowing hard against his dry throat. He felt cold without the blanket draped around his shoulders, his bare chest and arms and back all caught up in a flurry of gooseflesh, chills climbing up and down his tired muscles. He reached up his hands to the opposite arms, finding his fingertips -- real and synthetic -- to feel even colder than his body. Shiro still held them there, anyways, sighing to himself as he thought about it.

"It'll take me a few more days to get my power up," he said softly, looking off to the side. "Full Moon is enough but... a Full Moon in a church getting the evil burned out of me is... worse, I guess..."

Memories of the church flickered in his head. They were all hazy, laced with pain and all accompanied by a throb of his already aching temples. Shiro furrowed his brow, running his gaze back up to Lotor for a moment or so before he found his words. "That woman," he muttered. "She acted like she knew me. She talked about my human life... she called me this name. Champion..." The word tasted disgusting on his tongue for some reason -- just the simple title causing his breath to hitch and his thoughts to stutter. Shiro gathered himself, backtracked, and then went on. "She acted like she knew you too. I didn't see, but the tone of her voice... do you know her? Even if you don't know her know her, the God Squad has to have some archives on Jesus-Freaks, right?"

Lotor smiled a little, continuing to run his fingers through Shiro's hair. He curled certain long strands around his fingertips, his talons, and released them after a moment. He liked the slight curl it put into Shiro's hair.

"No records," he answered. "There isn't a single record on those devout to certain religions. The factors of what do and what don't affect your afterlife are irrelevant to religious practices or beliefs. I know her from when I was alive. Her name is Honerva. Was Honerva. Now, though, she is nothing but a witch. A twisted perversion of what was once beautiful and pure. I heard stories in my youth and they are difficult to recall now. All I remember is that I admired her until my dying breaths for who she used to be. Who she became, who she is, is a creature that even God would turn away from." He continued to play with Shiro's hair, his eyes turning to fix on the wall opposite him. Speaking of the witch made him tremble, stomach churning. "I'm unaware of how she has lived for so long."

"You knew her in life?" Shiro marveled, pretending not to notice Lotor's hand weaving through his tangled forelock. He was already struggling to repress the memory of how intimately the two had been pressed against each other those two nights ago -- even if the images were fuzzy and misted, he couldn't deny the warm feeling in his chest that resided there from the experience. The humiliatingly warm feeling. "That's... huh. That's weird. I don't know how long you've been an angel, but I'm sure it's longer than that Sunday School teacher bitch should have lived to."

Shiro rolled his eyes and shook his head a little. Something smelt nice -- he couldn't tell what the smell was or why it lifted his spirits but... whatever it was it was nice. He guessed it was the nature outside, or maybe even Atlas's grounding, familiar scent and continued on. "Who cares," he muttered, shaking his head. "By the time New Moon comes around, I'll just push that church off the side of a cliff, and we can tie her up to a chair and ask some questions. Then I'll rip her fucking head off for making me scream like that..." Shiro's voice got growly at the end, his jokes growing bitter and angry. "That bitch... Fuck. I hate humans, Lotor."

"And you expect her to be purely human?" he asked, the blunt question coming from nowhere. "I knew her in life. I can't recall what year it was, how long ago it might have been, but it has been centuries. Millennia. I can recall sitting beside Lance as he worked on his history homework and he would flick through page after page of lost relics from years ago. I can't remember exact years or estimated dates but I can still strongly recall Lance stopping as he turned to face me. I remember the confusion that crossed his features as he brandished the page, thrusting it out to me and pointing at the photo of a sculpture that had been lost for centuries. His brows had been furrowed and his eyes glimmered with curiousness as he questioned me. Told me the sculpture looked like me. Asked me why, if it was me, when I'd been alive and what it had been like. A lost and crumbled relic cannot be a recent discovery. She had lived far longer than anyone could possibly live without some inhuman or unnatural resources. She didn't share the energy of an angel nor that of a demon but she didn't seem entirely human, either." He reached over to pet Atlas, scratching behind her ear and seeking comfort from her. She let out a low whine and nudged her head against his stomach, enough to soothe at least a little of Lotor's nerves. Shiro just listened to him speak, brow pitching a bit as he thought about Lotor's odd, odd words.

He turned his gaze to Shiro, who had been looking at him with interest and confusion. The same way Lance had stared at him. A low sigh glided past his lips and he decided to get his message across more directly.

"Something is influencing her long life. Whether a deal with a demon or blood from one, she's been using supernatural methods to extend her own life but... but what reason could she have? It's unlikely that she made a deal with a demon in order to live for longer to execute as many of them as possible. Her executions, however, would provide her with a way of attaining this blood that she may drink to give herself strength and power. And yet, again, my mind drifts back to the same question. Nagging and unending and without any clear answer and no clues to direct toward one. Why? Why would she drink demon blood if she despises them? Why would she live so long? Why would she want to? Why run a church, begin a religious following baring similarities to a cult? Why torture demons before execution? Why was she willing to release you when she saw me and why is she so determined to achieve her goals that she'd give up a creature she could kill so easily? And I was hardly a threat. I was weak and I have yet to figure out what capabilities I have so why listen to me, even if she's unaware of how weak I am?"

He fell silent, finally. Pinching the bridge of his nose to relieve himself of a headache. He'd been contemplating these questions for days now and it was so unnerving and sickening. He didn't understand. He felt overwhelmed and it wasn't a pleasant sensation. He still had yet to get used to these negative emotions, the vulnerability and the sadness, the anger and the nausea. All of it was so unfamiliar and so unwelcome. He despised it. If only he could get answers to these questions or at least have some form of support.

Shiro was silent for a few moments, letting the ghosts of Lotor's words settle into the heavy quiet. "Has anyone ever told you that you talk like you're from some Shakespearean play?" he asked in a gentle, joking tone, cocking his head a little. When Lotor threw him a cold glance, obviously not too keen on letting Shiro's joke brighten the mood, Shiro held up a hand and shook his head a little. "Nevermind. Sorry. This is serious."

He leaned up from the wall a little, ignoring how his head swam and swallowing hard against his dry throat. He winced at the feeling. Shiro lifted a hand up to it, massaging his windpipe as he pondered over what he could say. "I'm sorry I don't have the answers, Lotor," he sighed wearily, shrugging up his shoulders a bit. "All I have are some why's and how's and big, fat question marks of my own. She must have something she's prying off of. Something she's using. She's human but she's hooked on some serious dark magic that's keepin' her alive. Believe me, only the blackest of mojo is enough to keep a human immortal... which might tell us why she's acting all high and mighty. Maybe she's killing demons to balance out her sins so she can still go to Heaven when she does bite the dust? That's my only guess..." He trailed off, falling back onto the wall with a thump.

"Who cares. We'll ask her when New Moon comes around. We'll go the night before -- I won't be feral but I won't be a drained battery either."

Something still smelled nice. Shiro closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and sniffed the air some more. The scent that hung there, heavy and pleasant, was something like lavender. Sharp, heavy lavender... but something warm too. As if the feeling of coziness had a smell -- had a taste. On top of all of that if was familiar, achingly so. Something Shiro could just barely remember -- something he just barely clung to at the very tips of his outstretched fingers. All he wanted to do was grasp it tight and hold it close into his chest, to embrace it. To let such a lovely smell overwhelm him in its friendliness. Shiro's lips curled into a delicate smile, and he sniffed the air again, trying hard to trace the smell of flowers and comfort.

"What is that?" he murmured absently, into the silence he had left the two of them in. "That smell. It's... it's so nice. I don't know if I've ever smelt it before... maybe once or twice." He paused to inhale, fluttering open his eyes and looking over to Lotor -- who was watching him rather cluelessly. Shiro frowned a little. "Don't tell me I'm going crazy here. You've got to smell that."

"No," Lotor said as he shook his head. "No, I can't pinpoint what smell you're talking about." His fingers stopped toying with Shiro's hair and he fixed his gaze to the demon, studying his face. "Are you feeling alright? I mean, it's evident that you're not but now you're chasing scents that aren't there." He offered up a smile and brushed his thumb over Shiro's cheek gently. He could see how it softened the look in his eyes. He could tell that something was there from how intently Shiro would defend himself but the way his eyes glinted a little when he insisted there was something there brought a smile to his lips. Shiro wasn't cute often but this was one of the times that he was. Maybe it was just because he was too weak and exhausted to be much of an asshole.

Shiro cocked his head — absently pushing into Lotor's hand at the gesture of course — and furrowed his brow. "I'm okay," he mumbled defensively. Shiro sniffed the air again, fluttering his eyes to a close. "You just can't smell it because you don't have my, uh, heightened senses or whatever..."

He didn't realize he was leaning forward, leaning towards Lotor, until he felt an awkward huff of laughter from the creature he was nearly pressed against. Shiro opened his eyes, and found his head nearly tucked up in the crook of Lotor's neck — he had moved there without even realizing, breathing in heavy wafts of that smell... the smell coming from Lotor.

Shiro flinched, and snapped back. His head whirled at the fast action, a whip of pain shooting through his mind. Shiro winced, uttered out a soft little whimper, and brought his hand up to his temple, pulling away from Lotor's hand and Lotor's warmth and that... Lotor's smell. Shiro's face lit up with red, eyes clenched close right as he shook his head.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, swallowing hard. Shiro didn't know why Lotor's smell was so suddenly entrancing... he wasn't hungry for Lotor's blood. It wasn't an enticing or delectable scent... just a lovely one. Shiro's stomach tied itself into knots at the thought. "I... Are you wearing cologne? Or... or something herbal? I think it's you..."

"Cologne?" Lotor echoed as if he'd never even heard of the word. Which, in all fairness, he hadn't. "No, I'm not wearing anything. Why? What do I smell like?" He brought Shiro down again, running his fingers through his hair again as if that would do anything to soothe the pain Shiro had accidentally inflicted upon himself sitting up. He was a little curious, though. Shiro was never so pushy or clingy or affectionate. He was never so desperate for one thing that he'd nuzzle up. Sure, during his cravings for blood he would lean invasively close but never did he dare be affectionate. He'd only nuzzled into Lotor's touch once and that was when he was being pet and begun to purr. Even then, it was an accident. Seeing him affectionate like this was out of character for such a creature.

It was almost unsettling to think of but the actions seemed so sincere and genuine that Lotor pushed back his nerves and decided just to endure any weirdness it might cause. Seeing Shiro so relaxed and clingy was honestly endearing. The moments spent with such a sweet and sincere Shiro were rare and fleeting and it was worth making the most of- before the toxicity and anger returned. He couldn't blame him for it, though. He was a demon- that was just how it was for creatures like that. Anger was motivation. For angels, anger was a forbidden concept. Their motivation was hope, caring for others and wishing for their improvement would let them come to heaven to join the angels that aided them. Such differences in sides. It was hard to think that Lotor had warmed up to Shiro with how he used to act. How he still acted sometimes.

 

"It doesn't matter," Lotor murmured as he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth more than he'd admit. "I'm glad you're comfortable. I dont need to know if you'd be embarrassed to bring it up."

Shiro nodded, his eyes off to the side, his face lit up the bright shade of red and pink posies. "Yeah. It doesn't matter," he echoed, giving a soft sigh. He still let Lotor touch his face and play with his hair — he tried to find the strength to pretend he didn't want it but such conviction escaped him in that moment. "It's probably... probably nothing. My senses are just all messed up to Hell from that Holy water. You just smell normal I guess..." Shiro closed his eyes and shook his head a little.

He gave a deep sigh, shifting a little closer to Lotor. His muscles were stiff and his lips were curled into a protesting frown, but Shiro curled up beside him nonetheless, craving the warmth. Flashes of a similar position from just a few days ago swam in his mind, murmured words and teary eyes making Shiro want to cringe. Fuck, how could such a being be so pathetic? Shiro felt like the grime one would scrape off their shoe on the doormat. Weak and pointless but disgusting and down looked at the same time. He scowled a little, and shook his head again.

"Sorry for, uh, anything I said last night. Or two nights ago, I guess," he muttered. "It was dumb. I don't really remember much but... fuck, it was mortifying. Please forget all of that. Pretend I never even said nothin'..." A soft snort or laughter escaped Shiro despite himself. "That list of things to forget is getting pretty long, huh? That tells you a lot about me, I fuckin' guess."

"No, it's nothing worth apologising for," he said while he coaxed his fingers through his hair. "A lot has happened recently. Just take your time and breathe.Relax a little. You're still so weak and your energy hasn't settled yet. You'll be okay."

 

His eyes fluttered closed. He relaxed, watching as Atlas moved a little closer to the pair and curled up around them. She leant up, giving Shiro plenty of kisses.

"I've been spending every other day playing with Atlas and taking her out for walks to help her feel better. Do you do the same? Do you want to go out sometime to help gain energy back?" he asked softly, still studying the oddly snuggly demon. "I've been roughhousing with Atlas, too. Would fighting help you at all?" He wasn't even sure what he was offering up- he just wanted to know what Shiro required to feel better.

Shiro gave a soft sigh, and shrugged his shoulders a little. "I could go out," he muttered pushing up a little even if every comfortable muscle in his body begged otherwise. "I probably shouldn't do any fighting, but the night's magic will be good for me. I'll just... sit on the sidelines and watch, if you want to keep playing with her." He turned to Atlas, and gave her a soft rub on the head, leaning down towards her and away from Lotor. Shiro kisses her nose, moving his hand to rub beneath her ear.

"And how are you doing, Attie?" he asked gently. Her tail thumped against the mattress, black, glittering eyes peering up at him with a kind sort of twinkle. Shiro smirked. "That's good, hun. Has Lotor been taking care of you? Hm?" Atlas gave a sort and a happy whine. Shiro's smile widened a little at the reaction.

He turned back to Lotor, cocking his head. "I... could you help me up?" Shiro asked, looking off to the side. "I'm feeling kinda shaky..."

"Yeah, of course," Lotor nodded as he slid to his feet and brought the demon to stand. He steadied him, offering up a smile. "Are you feeling better now? Better than when you'd woken up, at least. I worry for you and your safety, Shiro." He waited until the demon was definitely steady before pulling back and releasing him. Shiro was the one thing that could keep his attention and so Lotor was spending all of his time supervising and looking after him and his darling hellhound. "I'll take Atlas outside for a little more playing whenever you're okay with being moved outside. I want to keep a personal eye on you to make sure no more little mistakes happen."

He was worried about Shiro. Even as Atlas dashed about him and licked his hands and ankles as she dashed circles. She dropped to the floor and sneezed to show she was just playing and started all over again. Again. And again. It was cute but the energy surely didn't seem to be helping Shiro- and the barking was less than helpful for his pounding headache.

Shiro kept his hands on the opposite arms, his eyes on the floor as he offered up the meekest nod — blushing at Lotor's words and Lotor's sincerity. "I'm okay," he said, shrugging. Shiro looked down at himself, frowning a little. "Just cold. And... half naked."

He swallowed hard, and reached for one of the blankets off of the bed. Shiro wobbled a little at the change of balance, of course, but he steadied himself with the help of Atlas and Lotor's cautious hand. He pulled the blanket over his shoulders, turned back to Lotor, and nodded towards the door.

"Lead the way, Lotor," he said softly, smiling just a little. "Can't wait to watch Atlas kick your ass, yeah?" There was a soft little laugh from the both of them as they continued forward towards the back yard of the old factory.

Shiro simply plopped down into the grass once he got outside, one hand on his temple and the other on the crumpled, dried up blades he sat upon. He idly dug at some of the dry dirt with a talon, eyes drifting up from Lotor and Atlas — who both continued their way into the field — to the sky. It was partly cloudy. The moon, at the moment, was covered by a misty blanketing of grey, only barely peeking through the dark veil of vapor. Shiro breathed in deep, already feel some magic beginning to pool in his empty system at the darkness around him, the power just a whisper in his ear as it returned to him. The air was nice, open and clear and refreshing. Hints of Lotor's new (new? was it new?) scent trailed back to him, the small whiffs just barely teases as he sat there on that chilly night.

He looked back to Lotor when he heard him utter out a laugh, something fluttering up in Shiro's system at the sound. Shiro sighed and pulled the blanket a little tighter around himself, watching Lotor and Atlas carefully. Atlas would bound and dodge and slip around Lotor, and then Lotor would turn or spin and just barely get her — the large hound slipping from his clutches. Shiro could feel Attie's contentment... and he could see Lotor's. Hear it. He swallowed, and managed to tear his eyes away, down to the design he was absently scratching into the dry, caked up mud.

Hearts. He was scrawling fucking hearts.

Shiro scratched them away quickly, gasping to himself at the sight of those crude little doodles. Atlas heard it and became distracted with her demon for a moment or so, giving Lotor the upper hand. She just barely managed to weasel her way out from under him that time, yapping in surprise at Lotor's short yet brutal victory.

Lotor laughed as he and Atlas switched between who won and who lost, fighting playfully. Atlas would sneeze after every other attack and Lotor would press a kiss to her muzzle or her paws just to make it clear that neither of them intended any harm on the other. Lotor was beaming. It was unusual to see him so cheerful when his solitude and loneliness often made him feel alone, giving way to depression and loneliness. Though it was very welcome to see his demeanour changing so drastically.

 

It wasn't until half an hour later when he pushed Atlas down and scratched her stomach did their session end. She'd grown tired, panting and lying there, welcoming the pets. Her leg began to twitch as Lotor scratched, her tongue lolling out of her mouth and her tail thumping dully on the floor.  
"Oh, that was fun wasn't it?" Lotor would coo as he kissed her stomach and brushed his fingers through his fur. "Wasn't it? You were having so much fun! You were so strong, Attie! You got me so many times!"

Shiro tried to keep from smiling at the scene before him, but he couldn't help it, his gaze gentle with his rounded eyes, each of them twinkling in the dimmed starlight. "I kept count," he said smartly, tapping the ground. Over the spot where the wiped hearts had been, Shiro had drawn up a tally board to keep himself distracted. There were five tallies under a capital L, and then eight under a capital A. "I only started tallying a few matches in but totally won."

Atlas sneezed and rolled over, barking triumphantly at the news before she leapt up from the ground and bounded her way over to Shiro and his huddled spot on the ground. Before he could object, he was showered with slobbery kisses, Atlas's fat tongue dragging up his face and into his hair. "Arg-! Attie!" Shiro laughed, pushing her head away with one hand. She retaliated, pushing him over on his back with her head and moving to stand over him, leaving him open and defenseless to more licks and nuzzles with her cold, wet nose. "Ow-ow! Gentle!" Despite his words, Shiro had broken into laughter, playfully attempting to push her off of him. "I'm not playing! Agh- Lotor- haha! Help!"

Lotor grinned a little as he approached, kneeling beside Shiro. He looked at the tally in the sand and added a column for Shiro before marking another tally for Atlas. He just smiled, amusing himself with the thought of being better than Shiro for a few moments before catching onto Shiro's pleads for help.

"Why are you just- pfft! Atlas!- standing there?" Shiro tilted his head back and blew a raspberry after Atlas managed to get her tongue in his mouth. "Haha! Come on, Lotor! Help!"

Lotor approached and took Atlas's paws in his own hands. He grinned a little as he began pushing her up, away from Shiro.

"Don't worry!" he called over his shoulder as he managed to lift Atlas off of Shiro and pin her to the floor yet again. "I've saved you yet again, Shiro! Honestly, you should just be pledging your allegiance to me. We can make an alliance together. I'll save your life as much as you need me to. Even from your harmless little hellhound, hm? Isn't that right, Attie? You're totally harmless and Shiro's just a big old baby, isn't he?" Atlas barked in agreement, bringing a grin to Lotor's lips. "See? Exactly! She agrees with me."

Shiro pushed up from the ground, groaning as he wiped at his face with the back of his hand. "Blaugh. Gross," he moaned, smiling despite his pouting tone. Shiro turned his head up, watching the proud, giggly Lotor with narrowed eyes and a million dollar grin. "She's not harmless! She's a being of pure feralness! Evil to the bone! Aren't 'cha, girl?"

Atlas sneezed rather cutely in response, earning a raucous laugh from Lotor and a pouting scowl from Shiro.

He ran his hands through his slobber matted hair, wishing he had enough magic to just magically poof himself clean. Shiro, without thinking, began to push himself to a stand, figuring he could just go over to the waterspout to go and wash himself off. He had forgotten, however, how trembly his limbs had been and how light his head was, and his knees instantly buckled under his weight. Shiro tried to keep his balance, but gravity overtook him, and he stumbled to the side, gasping and clenching his eyes as he prepared to hit the ground. Instead, he hit something softer... but firm and supportive at the same time. When Shiro fluttered open his eyes, he looked up at a pair of gentle and watchful ones, the smile still shimmering in this lilac irises as firm arms held and supported Shiro's slackening body.

"Lotor," Shiro said quickly, flushing a deep red. "I... uh... thanks."

Shiro had, in fact, had landed on Lotor's lap. Lotor wasn't nearly as flustered at the demon but he was still a little red and was definitely not expecting to have a demon land upon his lap.   
"You're welcome," he said with a small and slightly awkward smile. "You can get off of my lap whenever you're ready to, as well. Don't feel obligated to stay."

Shiro, somehow, felt obligated to. The smell... It told him to stay.

Atlas yapped, running in circles around them and barking. She leapt on Shiro before he could get up, pinning him down. Lotor, again, was merciful enough to push her off. She barked and whined and tried to jump atop of him again when Lotor pushed her back again. She was far too energetic for this. Always in the worst situations, always in the best. She was just too easily excitable all of the time. It was especially not helpful when Lotor was pinned by Shiro who was then pinned by Atlas.

"Come on, Attie! We should head back in. Shiro needs to charge and he doesn't need you to crush his ribs before he can get enough strength to heal. Okay?" She didn't listen, though, barking louder and trying to jump on Shiro again. Lotor caught her paws get again, managing to suspend her in air. "Shiro, get off before she kills you."

Shiro nodded briskly, and pushed off of Lotor, shifting back so he sat on his knees, watching as Atlas and Lotor struggled against one another with wide, observing eyes instead of playful ones. Lotor's grip and Lotor's lap still seemed to press against his own body, the ghosts of those touches making Shiro nearly believe that he longed for more. After a few moments, though, Shiro shook his head a little and, once more, prepared to stand. That time he was more cautious and more careful, pushing up to his feet nice and slow so he wouldn't get dizzy and topple over again.

"So you guys are going inside?" he asked gently, cocking his head. Atlas turned and looked up at him, cocking her head at the loss of humor in his tone. Instead he sounded normal for the most part. Much less bright. Much more tired. Atlas noticed that for sure. "I... I might go out into the woods. Not too far, obviously. I just think the whole nature thing would help... I'm thirsty too. A visit to the stream would be nice..."

Lotor brought himself to his feet.

"Do you want us to accompany you?" he asked as he scratched behind Atlas's ears, watching her whine and nudge at Shiro and put her paw on his leg as if that would convince him not to leave them alone. "Because if you want company I'll gladly join you. I don't think that you've shown me to the stream before." He was a little interested. He had to admit that he was curious about some more of the surroundings, some places that he had missed or that he'd only visited briefly and while his priorities were far too erratic for him to take in any of the pleasant surroundings.

Shiro blinked a little in surprise, a pleasant sort a feeling spreading about his chest and his stomach at Lotor's words. "You... you want to come with me?" he asked, a hopeful little lift in his tone. Shiro noticed the way Lotor cocked his head at his change in pace, and instantly looked down, clearing his throat a little. "It's just, uh, I always think you get kinda bored around me. When we hang out around nature and stuff..."

Heat rose up in his cheeks for what had to be the hundredth time that evening. "Yeah, I, uh, wouldn't mind some company," he said after a few moments. "It'll be good if I, like, fall or something. You two would be nice to have around."

"I promise, I wasn't bored. I was just struggling last time we went out together. There had been a lot going through my mind that had troubled me and I found it almost impossible to focus on anything but what I could do about my situation. Could I have some pencils and paper, though, please? I used to have passion for art but I can't remember the last time I picked up a pencil."

He straightened up, stretching his hands over his head and petting the top of Atlas's head. He was more eager to spend time with Shiro than he'd expected to be- he enjoyed being with Shiro.  
"We'll go as soon as you're ready. Best not to waste time, hm?"

Shiro nodded, turning his head towards the ground as he racked his brain — wondering where he could find a paper and pencil. After a moment or so, a moment of complete and utter screw it took over him, and Shiro looked up at Lotor, raising up his left hand as he did so, open palm towards the sky. He began gathering whatever puddle of magic was inside of him, not really caring how idiotic such an action was.

"Catch me when I fall, please," he simply said, closing his eyes before Lotor could argue and using the last scraps of his gathered magic to summon up a simple pencil and some paper. It took a few more moments then necessary, but after a few awkwardly long ticks of a mental clock, Shiro felt a sweep of warmth leave him, and heard the fluttering of papers whisper in his ears. He fluttered his eyes open, he saw a thin notepad with a long, yellow pencil balanced just over it — but before he could congratulate himself, an overpowering wave of exhaustion rushed in to fill the gap of his magic.

As expected, Shiro began to sink towards the ground. Two sturdy hands caught him, however, and eased him down to his knees. Shiro lifted up his heavy head, eyes fluttered, lips curled in a stupid smile even with his pathetic position. "Got it," he slurred, holding up a tired arm, offering the notepad to Lotor. Something warm trickled down his face from his nose, one stream curling around his mouth and the other simply dribbling right over his lips. Shiro used the back of his hand, once Lotor had taken his things, to wipe it away — smearing black blood across his dorsal palm along with his cheek. Shiro brought his hand down and studied the drying blood for a moment or so. "Hm... that's new."

"I thought we could have gone out to pick something out!" Lotor spoke loudly, his eyes wide and full of concern as he used his sleeve to dab away the blood oozing from Shiro's mystery wounds. "I didn't want you harmed or ill! I didn't want you ending up risking your personal health because I didn't want to be bored, Shiro. I'm not so selfish as to prioritise my own amusement over your personal safety! Not only were you reckless by doing that but I'm sure you feel far weaker and I don't know if it would be safe to take you anywhere in your current condition!" he checked his sleeve before studying the source of the blood- he couldn't find where exactly these wounds were coming from but that only made the worry settled in the pit of his stomach spike. It did nothing to soothe his nerves or to ease his anxiety and instead made them skyrocket. Shiro's physical health was at risk now and for what? For Lotor's dull amusement? So that he could illustrate a thing or two with mediums he was unfamiliar with after millennia of neglecting his passions without realising?

 

He pressed his hand to Shiro's forehead to check his temperature. He was a little warmer than was healthy.

"How are you feeling? I can't imagine that after such exertion you can say that you're okay and mean it. Be honest with me- the worst that will happen is we postpone our trip. How do you feel?"

Rolling his eyes, Shiro shook his head and wiped away the more of the blood. He was blushing hotly at the feeling of Lotor's hand on his head. "I'm fine, Lotor. I'm okay," he assured. Shiro's placed his hand on Lotor's shoulder, his grip tight as he attempted to hoist himself up to his feet. Lotor helped him of course, and soon Shiro was in a wobbly stand. Shiro whistled for Atlas, who came obediently to his side, and used her as support as he stumbled back from the watchful Lotor. "Alright. So let's go. Like you said, best not to waste time, yeah?"

He was considerably chipper for a demon who spent himself just summoning a notepad and a pencil. Shiro turned with the help of Atlas, and began walking. He stopped, however, when he couldn't hear Lotor's footsteps behind him. Shiro turned to look over his shoulder, cocking his head. "C'mon, Lotor, we don't have all night," he said, smirking.

Despite everything telling him to haul Shiro to bed and order him to rest until he'd healed fully, Lotor began after the two. He walked alongside Shiro, feeling the grass beneath his feet and the moonlight on his body and noticing how rarely he'd left the confines of the warehouse for any reason other than Atlas. Even then they were only ever outside by a few metres. If they strayed further than three metres Lotor's connection to Shiro would weaken to the point where he wouldn't know about Shiro's condition immediately. Even when Atlas would be aware of any changes immediately, Lotor couldn't bear not knowing what would happen to Shiro. Finally being away from the warehouse and being somewhere far more peaceful- a breath of fresh air- was a relief.

It was deserved. For him and for Shiro.

"So," he began as he caught up to Shiro's side, sending him a fond gaze. "How long do we plan on walking for before you kill yourself teleporting?"

Shiro gave a soft, short little laugh, keeping his gaze upon the forest canopy above him, observing the way the pale rays of the night cut through the leaves to create white patterns with heavy black shadow across the forest bed -- across the fat, bulbous roots and the stomped on leaves and the caked up dirt of dry season. "Just until we get to the spring," he assured, nodding his head. Shiro walked slowly, using Atlas as a crutch as he trudged his wobbly way through the uneven grounds. He was tired -- the night still fed him, but the moon had slipped past its cloud. Shiro, if Lotor was alright with it, might have even wanted to take a power nap at the spring. His eyes were droopy and his shoulders were slumped and his head bobbed on his neck. "Just past a few more trees. I've got this place mapped out by memory."

They continued on, of course, until the scent of the fresh stream caught Shiro's nose and the gentle babbling of the water tumbling over clean, pale grey stones tickled his sensitive ears. A few more minutes and a few more trees, as Shiro promised, and they pushed their way into a clearing. The ground was smoother, laid out with lusher grass and muddier ground until the land was interrupted by a shallow divot and its trickling spring. The water, maybe only as deep as Shiro's knees, sluggishly made its way over stones and around boulders, both coming from and disappearing into a lush gathering of bushes and trees. The spot smelled of Shiro of course; it was his very obvious territory. Remnants of past visits -- footprints, claw marks, dead patches of grass, some carvings of just simplistic depictions of the forest's wildlife scratched into trees -- they were all scattered about the sacred little spot. Shiro nodded towards one of the dryer, less muddy and particularly comfortable boulders, lifting up a hand to gesture for Lotor to sit there. When he got the nod, Shiro turned and started towards the stream.

Not caring about the mud, he plopped down on his knees at the stream bed, leaning down and cupping a handful of water in his hands before tipping his rounded palms over his mouth. The water was sublime against his dry tongue and scratchy throat. Shiro drank twice more, and then simply splashed some water onto himself, rubbing away at the flaky remains of his nosebleed. Atlas was already fooling around in the stream, biting and nipping at the water, sloshing it about as she chased after the occasional frog or turtle. A crisp little crunching sound told the suddenly cringing Shiro that Atlas' hunt had been successful. He shook his head, and turned back to Lotor. 

"It's not the carnival or anything," he said, voice stronger with the drink of fresh water. "But it's nice. Clears my head. 'Specially when I'm like this." Shiro lifted a hand to gesture himself, rolling his eyes. He dropped his arm, and slumped, leaning backwards to lay on the soft ground. "So... uh... whatcha' drawing over there?"

When he was addressed, Lotor's gaze had been fixed on a small array of flowers by the riverbank. They were beautiful, little flourishes of colour along a muddy and grassy bank. As was expected from where his attention was fixed, Lotor was drawing the flowers with the stream in the background. He'd already blocked out the sketch and begun shaping the little flower boxes into actual flowers. He was a fast worker.

 

It was one thing that always came back to him naturally- drawing. Sketching and shading, working out contours and lighting. It was always too easy for him to get back into the groove of drawing and it was almost as if he entered a trance. When he was drawing, that was the only thing that mattered. Though that was likely because he'd never had anyone or anything to distract him when he used to do his art. He never had someone ask what he was drawing and genuinely care. He only remembered being shamed for drawing too much and fighting too little. A soft smile had appeared on his lips as he offered up the drawing for Shiro to admire.

"Just some flowers," he said softly, his voice sweet. He was far more relaxed for having left, knowing that Shiro was okay, and it was beginning to show. He seemed lighter. It was as if a weight had lifted from him- there was no longer some tension crushing his lungs or pressing down on his shoulders or trying to shut down his mind. It wasn't just a storm cloud lifting, it was an entire storm dissipating from around his head and fading away.

But the one thing that he wished would fade, his shattered halo, remained. Another benefit to sketching was that it felt like his sketchpad and his subject were the only things in the world. He never needed to care about other people or masking his true form or the judgement he was always afraid of, being an angel without a halo and with horns jutting from his forehead.

"It's a warmup sketch so don't expect anything too fantastical or impressive. I'll move on to something more complex and impressive when I've finished this tonal still life in its entirety." He brought the pad back to his lap and began fixing up the rest of the flowers there were, neatening them and defining the shape against the background. He was cute when he concentrated- his brows knitted together and his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth. Fussing over making every little detail as perfect as possible- it wasn't his fault, he was a perfectionist at heart and nothing would take that from him. And, just like that, he was back in the zone, fixated on his drawing. He kept listening out for whether or not Shiro would be getting his attention, not wanting to upset the demon or make it seem like he was ignoring him.

He was incredibly grateful for Shiro getting him the drawing pad in the first place but the genine care that Shiro seemed to demonstrate (he'd gotten him the items requested when they were requested and inviting him out was rather sweet) made him feel that much better. He rarely experienced bliss like this.

Even in life, all memories of bliss and peace had been rare and fleeting. This moment, and moments similar, were so rare that he was desperate to cling to them and never let them leave. He didn't care if clutching onto faint memories would burn a hole in his hand. He never wanted to release them.

The demon gave a smile. "Pretty," Shiro mused softly, wishing Lotor had held it up a little bit longer for him to admire. He continued to look Lotor's way when the half-angel stuck his head back down into his sketchpad, scribbling away with that look of pure focus and attention. Shiro watched him for a good minute or so, studying his features, watching every trait or habit present itself as Lotor worked -- all of that flicking his eyes up from the paper and to those collection of flowers, narrowing his eyes, closing one eye, tilting his head, pursing up his features. Shiro was nearly stuck in his own daze at the sight.

"Really pretty," he murmured absently, voice soft.

Lotor didn't seem to hear it, of course, so focused on his artwork, but Shiro snapped his mouth shut and turned away when the phrase had slipped from him. Shiro pinned his attention on the water, keeping his reddened face turned, eyes running along the ripples of the smooth surfaces of the stream. He tried to keep himself busy studying the reflexive properties of the babbling spring, the dark space of the forest canopy peeling back with the wind to cast an array of stars into the trickling pool before him. Shiro flicked his eyes up to the sky, and then back down to the water -- back and forth and forth and back -- mapping out their similarities.

The stars looked so beautiful, dancing across the water. Almost more beautiful then they were just sitting in the sky. Almost.

"Lotor?" Shiro asked into the quiet night. White noises filled in the heavy gap after Shiro's hesitant question -- noises of whispering leaves or Atlas's splashing or the cooing of the wind or the scribbling of Lotor's pencil. Shiro tried again. "Lotor?" The creature looked up, and Shiro swallowed, figuring there was no turning back. "Can I tell you a secret?"

The angel set down his pencil and lifted his gaze from the page. His attention fixed on Shiro, solely on Shiro, as if he were the only thing that mattered. Sketching helped him to focus which made it easy for him to fixate on Shiro. As if there wasn't a single other thing in the world.

Shiro sighed, and turned back to the spring, following the reflection of the water all the way up to the sky above them. His head tilted back as he watched the stars watch him back from the inky black spill of the night. "I don't remember anything from my life as a human..." Shiro started, cocking his head a little. "I wish I could. I'm so curious. I'm so... homesick for... for something I can't even recall..." he trailed off, sighing.

"Hiraeth," Lotor murmured, both to show Shiro that he was listening and proving him that the situation was not an uncommon one. "is the word for that kind of longing." Shiro didn't acknowledge his comment. Lotor didn't mind.

"But something about the stars lately... they feel so... special. They've always been nice to me, but this last month or so they look different. They make the night smell different. Taste different. They make me feel different." Shiro barely even knew what he was saying. He just spoke, letting Lotor's powerful aura coax the indescribable feelings from his lips, molding things he didn't even know he had inside of him into words and sentences. "They look like... memories. They smell like memories. They taste like memories. Memories I don't have but... but that I want so bad. I don't even know how that makes sense but it does. To me. Somehow..."

"Lately all I've been wanting to do is get closer to them, to reach up and..." Shiro lifted his arm, slowly, extending his ugly talons out into a sky of pure beauty. "Just hold them..."

That was familiar. Shiro turned to look over his shoulder at Lotor, who was watching him so intently, Shiro felt like he could crack under his thoughtful gaze. He didn't, though. He kept going, letting Lotor's power drag the words out like fish hooked onto sturdy twine.

"Can I ask you a question that might make you uncomfortable?" Shiro asked. He earned a very slow nod, likely inspired more from curiosity than willingness, and Shiro went on. "What is Heaven like?"

"Heaven is... " Lotor took a few moments to recover from the shock of the question and process a response. He took in a breath, eyes fluttering closed as he tried to imagine what it had been like. The clouds, the serenity, "the familiarity of home. It's the sensation you feel when you return to your childhood home after years. The sensations of finally trusting someone or a first genuine kiss. It's the rush of adrenaline you feel when you take a risk for the first time. It's the pride that you feel when you receive praise. It felt like the first home I'd truly had. My home during my lifetime was cold and desolate solitude. My home on earth was blades dragged across my skin for the smallest of mistakes, harsh violence for the slightest weakness or emotion. My home in heaven was with anyone and everyone. My home in heaven was wherever I wanted it to be. Heaven was like having someone embrace me and press a delicate kiss to my forehead, taking the negativity from my body and my thoughts, removing all toxicity and cleansing all scars. Heaven was like the first true love I had felt in my lifetime on earth. Heaven is whatever the angel wants it to be. For some it feels like the day they bought a puppy. For some it is the day that they fell in love. For some it is the day that they were married, a birthday, whatever it is it's a sensation of pure joy and carefreeness and relief."

Shiro listened intently, his eyes growing wider and his expression softening all the more so with each and every word.

A slow breath dragged from between Lotor's lips, his eyes still gently closed. His words settled for a few moments but before Shiro could speak up or respond, Lotor was talking yet again.  
"And losing that home, that safety, a sensation of tranquility that you'd been given for three millennia was the worst kind of torture. Stripped of my pride, my good name, forced to watch helplessly as angels I had trusted insulted me and told me that it was what they expected from a creature like me, a child like me, someone raised in my family under my circumstances. The blade that severed my wing from my body was like the pinprick of a needle compared to how they voiced their thoughts. They told me that I was destined to end up like this- a freak, an outlier, a mistake. That I'd never belonged in the heavens and this simply proved it. They thought I couldn't hear but each word opened a new wound."

His face had contorted into one of pain by now, as if the very memory of that moment was like a dagger in his stomach, twisting slowly to inflict more pain upon the deserving angel.  
"I pleaded that I wasn't guilty. I insisted, I shouted, I begged, but my words were censored. They manipulated my voice and my image so the others thought I was saying that I was guilty. That I pleaded my guilt and demanded my punishment. The pain was blinding and the heartache unthinkable and it was made worse and worse with each passing second. When my halo was shattered, all of the hatred and anger and sadness flooded me. It overwhelmed me. It drove me to fight and shout and insult and it urged me to refuse. Submission is useless in an unjust world. I was told I was defeated and fought against it- I deserved my place and I knew it but it only earned me more pain and hurt. They enjoyed the show. Angels laughed and grinned and cheered on the Guardian as it burned me and mutilated my body. They watched as I was expelled from the heavens from such a height that I would surely have died if I didn't have enough of your energy left to teleport. And once again, I felt cold and alone. I could remember the pain my memories harnessed and the power that they have over me. Once again I have had to train myself to put my priorities above my emotions. Once again I must teach myself never to be content or complacent with what I have or what I have achieved. Life is volatile, cruel and erratic. If I enjoy what I have and I lose it I will only feel pain. If I refuse to pour my emotions into something I will inevitably lose then I will not be hurt when it is lost."

He turned his gaze to Shiro finally, his eyes cold and empty. Shiro looked back, his face a little paler than before at Lotor's words... he didn't say anything. He just listened as the half-angel before him went on.

"You want to know what heaven is like? It is too good to be true and too easy to lose. Objective opinions neglect good intent behind bad actions. They take the smallest offences and twist it into mutiny, betrayal, blasphemy, and they use it to abandon their devout followers. Heaven is the place of the gods, a land of perfection- but it is only so when you can't feel the negative emotions you have. Everyone is terrified of making a mistake but that fear is smothered and repressed until the mistake is made and fear was not there to stop you from making it. Perhaps I truly was out of place- I still felt my negative emotions before I had been exiled. Or perhaps I was simply too cognizant of the situation I was in for the heavens to accept me. Heaven is only a perfect place for blind fools."

Shiro gave a soft sigh, and looked down at his feet, feeling a numb sort of disappointed. He knew Heaven was a scam, of course... but it didn't mean Lotor's answer stung any less. "So both afterlifes are fucked?" he said in a sad sort of snort. He looked back up to Lotor, offering a consoling smile despite not feeling all that positive himself. Shiro parted his lips to speak, leaning forward towards Lotor from his spot on the ground.

But before Shiro could say anything else, or even finish his sentence, Lotor cut him off with a loud scream of pure agony.


	17. Memories Of A Lost Love

“Lotor!” 

Shiro hopped up from the streams bank, hurrying towards Lotor despite the whirling of his head at such a fast paced action. He was still screaming — the sounds ringing out into the previously serene setting of the deep night and its nature. His cries startled nightbirds, the flapping of wings from rustling tree branches joining the echo of pain. Atlas froze in the spring, her head pointed up at Lotor and her master, head cocked, black eyes round and alert. The wind blew briskly as Shiro placed a hand on Lotor’s shoulder, whipping the leaves above them in a suddenly violent gust of wind that settled rather ominously over the land. 

“Lotor? Hey, hey! Lotor! What’s wrong?” Shiro asked, his tone desperately confused. He held tight onto Lotor’s shoulders, holding his sagging body upright with a panicked sort of grip. When Lotor failed to respond, his mighty screams settled down into breathless whimpers and yelps, Shiro reaches one of his hands up to Lotor’s lolling head. He pressed his palm against Lotor’s cheek, cupping his face and feeling the stream of warm tears trickle over his fingers. Just the touch made Shiro shudder, the magic providing a buzz Shiro could never even try to imagine. 

An angel’s tears were something powerful, he supposed. 

Shiro lifted up Lotor’s head, ignoring the buzzing of his fingers. “Lotor,” he said shaking his own head. “Lotor? Come on. You’re alright, man. I’m here. What’s wrong? What hurts? Just tell me what hurts maybe I can… I…” he trailed off, not knowing what to say. “I can help, maybe. Somehow. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

With great effort, Lotor managed to sit up and he slid his shirt over his head, exposing the black mark that had been burned into his back when the guardian had pinned him with the hilt of her spear. It was sizzling, burning and aching. Lotor’s feathers were falling to the ground around him, some drifting into the stream and then lazily downwards. He was trembling badly, hands curled into fists and his talons drawing little drops of that shiny blood from his hands.  
“Shit,” he breathed. “Shiro, I… it hurts, Shiro. It burns. The Guardian burned my flesh with the hilt of her spear and it burns now. Even after all this time. Is it- is it because of what I said? Am I still being observed? Am I still being punished? Was- was it not enough to strip me of my wings, my dignity, my halo and my status? What the fuck am I meant to do, Shiro?! What the fuck am I meant to do?!”

Shiro was speechless, eyes wide, lips parted for words he just couldn’t find. “I… I-I don’t know,” he managed to stutter out, his gaze trained on the festering wound bubbling up on Lotor’s back, the skin sizzling with white and black, the area around it a raw sort of red against Lotor’s deeper tone.

It was a grotesque sort of sight, but a painfully familiar one. Burning ones flesh off of his bones was a rather popular form of torture in Hell. It was one Shiro was fairly accustomed to. He knew what it felt like. He’d dealt with similar burns on nearly every stretch of skin of his body. He knew what it felt like. 

He knew how to deal with it too. 

Shiro snapped from his stupor, blinking his eyes and whipping his attention back onto Lotor, who whimpered and writhed before him, those tears still streaming down his face. Without hesitation, Shiro lifted his hand to hold Lotor’s face again. He moved his other hand to Lotor’s, prying open his fist, pressing their palms together and then lacing their fingers. Warm blood touched upon Shiro’s fingers but he didn’t even seem to notice. Lotor’s talons dug into Shiro’s knuckles but again, the sensation was distant. He squeezed Lotor’s hand just as tight, lifting his head up so their stares locked with one another. 

“Lotor,” Shiro said firmly. “Focus on me. Focus on me. I am the only thing you have to worry about. Focus on me. What colors am I wearing? What do I look like? What am I saying? What does my voice sound like? Focus everything on me. Don’t think about anything else. Talk to me. Tell me, Lotor, what color am I wearing?” A hard question. Shiro was wearing nothing but grey sweatpants. He shook his head. “No. Tell me what I look like. Describe me. Out loud. Right now. Can you do that?”

Lotor was still trembling, eyes wide and clutching Shiro as if his life depended on it.  
“W-Wearing- wearing grey,” he breathed as he watched Shiro, studying his face and his features. “Eyes- eyes are purple, grey, they shine when you’re happy or excited- you- you have thick eyebrows and I can- can see the concern in your eyes and you have th-thin lips and- and sharp cheekbones and nice facial structure and pale skin and short hair that’s pretty badly cut and-” he took a slow, shaky breath, focused on Shiro. Recovering. Slowly but steadily, his focus shifting from the pain of his spine and fixing on Shiro. “And you have s-so many scars,” he breathed. “So many scars everywhere and I wish I could get rid of them- f-for you- I wish you didn’t have to have them.” His eyes closed and he slumped against Shiro a little, the pain having subsided while he was distracted. It was bearable now. Tolerable. He could breathe through it and oh, how nice it felt to get a break from that agony. 

 

He broke away from Shiro, breathing a little heavier than necessary as he turned to stare at Shiro. “Thanks,” he murmured. “Really, thank you. That was more helpful than you think.”

Shiro, knowing it wasn’t the time to get flustered by all those things Lotor had simply nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to find his words again. “The best way to deal with pain is to distract yourself,” he said softly, raising up his shoulders a bit. He drew his hand away from Lotor’s face, settling it on his shoulder again, trying to keep him upright and steady. “It doesn’t always work but… I figured it might have been worth a shot…”

Nice facial structure? Shiro blinked as Lotor’s slightly hysterical description of him misted back into his head. My eyes shine? My hair is badly cut? 

He wishes I didn’t have to have my scars?

His face grew hot, but Shiro forced back the color as best he could, trying hard to find some way to relieve the powerful impact of that last question. He figured distracting Lotor again would be the best way to do it. “You think my hair is badly cut?” he asked with a soft smile, tone joking yet still delicate. Lotor wasn’t screaming or whimpering, and the tears on his face were all old and drying, but he still trembled as though he’d been chilled right down to the very bone. One of the hands that had been on Lotor’s shoulder moved down to his upper arm, running up and down his bicep to try and give Lotor some heat from the friction. “It’s not that bad, is it?” 

A small smile appeared on Lotor’s lips at Shiro’s defensive reaction. It wasn’t that bad, no, but he’d been cold toward Shiro when he’d first met him because of his hair length.  
“When I was alive, short hair meant that you fought with people. That you took pride in being violent or murderous- that you were a risk. It’s why I have my hair grown out long. If I ended up in physical combat- if I lost in physical combat- then I would have to cut my hair some. I usually only lost an inch of my hair at a time for each fight I got into but if I lost, it was customary to cut my hair short. Above my shoulders was the ordered length. Another loss would take it to my chin, then my ears, and then it would just get slowly shorter from there. Some people I met were defeated, their heads shaved. Some I met had anger issues and cut their hair every time someone irritated them as if a challenge. If the offender cut their hair too, they’d fight. Their hair would be uneven everywhere. Some people I met had long hair but in my father’s empire, they would not last long. Most of them soon had short hair or were never seen again.” 

He’d shifted toward Shiro by then, leaning into the warmth that the demon provided. His shivering began to slowly subside but his fingertips still trembled too badly for him to return to drawing so, taking Shiro’s advice, he continued to talk. To distract himself.  
“Whenever I was disrespectful, my father- his hair almost entirely shaven- would cut my hair. He would grab me by the roots of my hair and order for someone to bring him a blade. First he would slice my skin, insulting me, reminding me that I was a blemish on his name and a mistake of the empire. Then he would curl the end of my hair around his fist and cut it from there. I frequently lost inches of my hair simply for doing what I thought was right. It soon reached a point where my hair didn’t grow past my hips for months. When I figured out ways to hide things, to disguise my passions, my hair grew longer. I put it into a braid when it began to reach the floor. Every month I’d find a new way to pin it back so that it wouldn’t touch the floor. Oh, the extravagant styles I would have! Braid after braid, twisted upon my head! Weaved into crowns and braided together. When I woke up in the afterlife, everything was the same. My hair was long, meaning that I couldn’t have died in battle, but one strand was short.” He curled his finger around the strand that fell into his face. It wasn’t much, but it only barely reached his nose. When Lotor had first met Shiro it had come down to his eyebrows. “If I died in a fight, all of my hair would be short. If I fought, my hair would be to my hips as opposed to the length it used to be. However, this single strand has been short and I can’t figure out why.”

Lotor’s gaze fixed upon the stream again. He held his hands in front of him- still shaking. He’d need a steady hand for illustrating, especially now that he was reaching the finer details of the shapes before shading.  
“I don’t find your hair ugly and I hope that you didn’t perceive my words as malicious. I found it difficult to trust you at first because of your short hair but I chose to believe you came from a different era with different standards instead of insisting that you were violent and murderous. It helped me to adjust to you and trust your words. Besides, almost all angels have short hair so it must have been exclusive to my culture.” Finally done with his story, the lesson in his culture and lifestyle, he turned his attention to Shiro. “Not that it’s my place to say but I think you would look rather handsome with long hair.”

Shiro listened with his head cocked and his eyes wide with interest -- forgetting his previous flusteredness until Lotor let that last sentence free. His hand had been absentmindedly running through his own hair, noticing just how short the buzzed bits were, and how choppy the black tufts were as they grew longer and longer until he met the white of his forelock. Shiro had been lost in Lotor’s words until one of those words had been handsome, and then he snapped his head up. 

“Handsome?” he echoed without really realizing it. The word left his lips, and Shiro felt like kicking himself at the blush that rose about Lotor’s face. He stood up straight, shoulders rising up and his whole body going tense. “I… uh… thanks? I guess? I don’t know if that was a compliment or not.”   
“It was.”

Shiro turned his head down to look at the ground, now anxiously twirling the hair of his bangs round his fingers. “Even if I did look, uh, handsome or whatever,” he said, blushing heavily at the statement. “I can’t grow it out. Three thousand years and it’s only ever been like this. Shaved undercut with a weird looking forelock…”   
Shiro swallowed hard after he trailed off, letting his posture slacken and grow comfortable after a few moments of silence. He turned to look at Lotor, and then slowly sank down into the grass, taking a seat just in front of the boulder Lotor sat upon. He reached his hand down for the sketchpad and the pencils Lotor had dropped in his previous agony, and then offered it back up to him, flicking his eyes away. 

“Can you tell me more?” he asked in a quiet, embarrassed sort of voice. “About your past? Only the stuff that makes you feel comfortable, I guess, because you did say it was kinda sucky. I… I just like listening to you run your mouth, I guess.” Shiro gave a soft snicker at the last bit, shaking his head a little to show Lotor he’d just been joking. “You had a cat… did you have a lover?” He drew out the word lover in a teasing coo. “Were you all gushy-mushy-‘how do I love thee? Let me count the ways’?” 

A smile curled on Lotor’s lips as he picked up his sketchpad and began to draw yet again, focusing on mastering each individual line before he would progress to the next. He already had the proportions prepared so he wasn’t anxious about making mistakes here and there.  
“As far as I can recall, I had one lover. She was a wonderful, strong woman who shared many similarities with myself; her dark skin and silvery hair were the most noticeable. Hers were natural, though- both of her parents had white hair and it was simply genetic. Mine was a mutation that I never learned the details about. I can still recall the first time I saw her- truly saw her. Without armour or a helmet, not simply a painting or portrait. She wore a gown of deep blues and whites that were reflected in her eyes. She wore a gold crown that she braided her hair around, juniberry flowers tucked behind her ear. She wore her hair down, unlike me, and it wasn’t a symbol of pacifism as mine was. It reached her hips in curls and waves. I was nineteen, as was she, and I entered the chamber in my armour to meet her in her formal gowns. It was customary for the Galra Empire to discuss business, or at least to meet important people, wearing battle armour. My father’s empire and her kingdom didn’t comply with each other’s rules and often got into territorial disputes as my father conquered more and more of her land, piece by piece.”

A fond smile had crossed his lips.  
“She was breathtaking. The second I lay my eyes on her I was enamoured, and I wasn’t the only one who felt like that. There were rumours of a dozen rejected marriage proposals from various influential people. There were stories and tales of dramatic schemes to win her affection. I approached her, kneeling before her throne to show my respect- I wanted to prove to her immediately that I had no harmful intent and that I wished to be respectful to her. She requested that I state my name, each word sounding sweeter than the last. I complied, telling her that I was the son of Zarkon and heir to the Galra throne. She told me to stand and I complied again, unwilling to displease someone who could influence my plans so heavily. I was on my feet after a moment and looked up to see her rising from her throne and approaching. She was ever graceful- it was as if she glided through the air, her gaze locked on me. Then… she…” he began to turn very red, hiding his face behind his sketchpad as he tried working on some more of the details.

“If I tell you what happened, you should swear not to laugh. It’s not a pleasant story for me to tell but her uncouth gesture doesn’t prevent this story from being a fond memory of mine. Will you do that? Swear to me, Shiro, that you will not laugh at what I tell you.”

Shiro’s eyebrows were high on his head, lips curled into an interested sort of smile. He leaned forward, smirking. “You two had sex?” he asked in a slick sort of tone, cocking his head. Lotor’s face flushed a deep red, but Shiro stopped him before he could get his next frantic stuttering out, holding up a hand and shaking his head. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. You can tell me. I won’t laugh.” 

He was interested. Despite the hilarious nature of Lotor’s ruby red face, Shiro didn't continue on his teasing, and instead tilted his head forward, running pinched fingers along his lips to show they were zipped. He wouldn't laugh -- Shiro made sure that was a promise, drawing his hands from his lips down to his heart, crossing an x over his chest in a sign of his true vowing. “Won’t laugh. Promise. Go on.”

Lotor studied him for a few long moments, seeing how serious he looked and taking a breath before getting the courage to continue. His cheeks were still flushed red as he relived such a humiliating memory.  
“She took ahold of me, curling her fingers around my wrist and looked into my eyes for a few long moments. She smelled of flowers and it was almost overpowering but I wasn’t allowed to be distracted so I kept my attention on her. Finally, she spoke again, addressing me with a simple ‘Son of Zarkon, you say?’. I nodded, telling her that I came to see her specifically, that I had something I needed to discuss with her. Her hold on me tightened and her other hand curled around my forearm. I arched an eyebrow and I remember that I didn’t even begin to ask what she was doing before I was lifted off of the ground and the next thing I knew, I was upside-down against the wall the other end of the room, having been thrown. Lifted off of my feet like I weighed nothing.” 

He smiled so fondly. It was as if the intent behind her actions had had no meaning to him- as if the malice was so far in the past that he’d forgiven her before it had happened. He opened his mouth to speak again but-

Shiro couldn’t help but let a snort past his hands -- which he had clamped over his mouth in an attempt to keep from spilling out the actual raucous laughter he’d been holding deep inside of his chest. “Sorry,” he giggled, the word sneaking past his hands in a soft little chuckle. “You got thrown across the room by-” he cut himself off, pausing to giggle again- “by some princess?” 

A heavy fit of laughter broke past his lips, Shiro’s head tilting up towards the sky and his hands falling away from his mouth -- his arms wrapping around his stomach as he let out his carefree bouts of chuckles and giggles. He leaned backwards, tipping over on his back, snickering like a fool.   
“S-sorry, sorry,” he laughed, shaking his head. “I mean- she threw you? How much did you weigh? How big was she?” Shiro lifted a hand to wipe the space beneath his eye. “Ah. That’s gold. Fuck, Lotor. She threw you across the room and you just fell in love like that? Literally gold.”

"You swore that you wouldn't laugh!" Lotor snapped, his voice loud and sharp, full of irritation that subsided a second later. He instead decided to focus on Shiro’s questions, choosing to believe that he was asking them out of curiosity instead of to fuel his ridicule. “I weighed one hundred and forty pounds, approximately sixty… three kilograms. I was a rather tall teenager and due to my obligation to learn how to fight I was fairly muscular. She was significantly more slender than I was but still had more than enough muscle for someone five foot eight inches. I was six foot six inches, I believe. And I didn’t fall in love immediately, it took me a few more meetings to truly fall but I did develop some kind of interest nearing a crush.”  
“Awww,” Shiro hummed, smiling as he pushed himself up from the ground. “You had a crush! That’s so cute.”

Ignoring his comment, Lotor continued. "When I realised what had happened, I got to my feet and brushed myself off. It had knocked my helmet off and dented it and I don't doubt that if I wasn't wearing my helmet I would have been knocked unconscious from the impact. She told me I wasn't welcome because my father had murdered hers. King Alfor had been slaughtered by my father almost ten years prior to that point and she had witnessed it all at such a young age. She harboured resentment in her soul that burned like a bonfire running out of kindling. It ate away at her, devouring each and every lick of skin like she was nothing but fuel. I saw through the anger- I felt the same frustration and resentment as she did. I approached her again and she seemed prepared to fight me, as if I posed a threat, before noticing the length of my hair. It was a significant part of my culture so she was aware of it. I believe that she had been present when my father had taken ahold of his long hair and used King Alfor’s dagger to slice it short before murdering him with the very same blade.”

He picked up his eraser and cleared away the guidelines from the first few flowers, now completed.  
“She stopped short just after swinging a punch. I didn’t flinch nor did I try to block her attack, not wanting to be seen as a coward or to have my self-defence seen as an attack. She took a step back. I remember her confusion when she mentioned my hair and I simply explained that I believe in peace over violence. Loyalty inspired by fear is no loyalty at all. She did still seem wary around me and even went as far as to pull my braid- with permission- to make sure it wasn’t fake. I wanted her to trust me and I was willing to do whatever was required to get her to believe that I intended no harm. Things progressed slowly from there and as time past we met frequently. It transpired that she’d grown interested in me, too, but it wasn’t until a risky meeting together that we proved it. She wasn’t allowed to visit me and I, her. Instead of letting that get in our way, she’d occasionally find her way into the castle and sneak up to my balcony. I can still recall the way I felt when I heard her in the garden, calling my name. I went to my balcony and helped her up, telling her of my plans for when I owned the empire, my thoughts and ideas and my ways of progressing from a tyrannical dictatorship to a civil democracy.

“The first kiss that we shared was in my bedroom, at my desk. It was late at night and the only light was of my candle on the desk as we worked. She’d been exhausted from a day of hard work and I suppose that I must have been, too. Delirious from days spent incessantly working, training, fighting and hiding from my father only to stay up all night reading and talking with Allura. She spent most of her time with me sleeping, her head on my shoulder, but I couldn’t find it in me to complain. I had no reason to complain. Even while she slept, she was gorgeous. I would look at her frequently to make sure she was sleeping contently, no signs of restlessness or nightmares, but she was so different from me. Not a single terror plagued her sleep.”

Lotor almost sounded jealous. Almost.

“On occasion I would wrap an arm around her to support her so she could sleep upright and other times I would simply leave her be. One time, though, she had taken to pacing up and down my room. She was stressed, frustrated, and I could see a familiar look of panic in her eyes- the same as when she first met me. I stopped her pacing and took her into my arms. I cupped her cheek, asked her what was wrong, and the next thing I knew she had her lips on mine. It was a sweet moment of pure euphoric bliss. I’d never been romantically involved with anyone before, much less with someone like Allura. That night we skipped on the work. We settled down in my bed and I let her rest her head on my chest when she slept. She told me her dreams and her fears and I told her mine. It was peaceful. It was perfect. Our relationship progressed further as we shared more and more time together, discussed our interests, worked harder and harder to find a peaceful solution for her kingdom and my future empire.”

Lotor had a fond smile on his lips, having the sketchpad in his hand but no longer drawing. His thoughts were occupied solely with the memories of this relationship. With the thoughts of Allura. “I was quite the romantic, not that I’d intended to be, but I could remember giving her gifts when she arrived. I wrote poetry and read it to her, I told her every day of how I missed her smile or how I loved to be with her but… it didn’t last. It rarely did, for me. We were only dating for five months before it was torn away from me. Five months of harmony and bliss and perhaps we were a little more intimate than affectionate in some events but we never took it too far. I would hesitate, falter, grow too shy and break away from her. It happened frequently and… perhaps that was what drew her away from me. Either that or my heritage, or the idea that we could only be together in secret. I’ll never truly know what pushed us apart but one day... “

He sighed, sadness overwhelming him so suddenly. It wasn’t even clear when it took over, just that it snatched him up in his arms and smothered him, drowning out all the hope he had felt before. Erasing all enjoyment and content he’d experienced. He didn’t fight it.  
“One day she came to my room three hours late. The weight of the world was on her shoulders. She climbed up but didn’t come inside. When I reached out to touch her she flinched away. I didn’t try again. She told me that… that there was someone new. Someone from her kingdom who told her that I was cruel, sadistic, a murderer who found enjoyment in killing people. Someone who only cut his hair a strand at a time to preserve a false sense of safety. I told her it wasn’t true, I begged and I pleaded but she didn’t listen. She said she didn’t know who to trust but she didn’t want to be with me anymore. She left that night and didn’t come back the next.”

Each word was harder and harder to say. It was as if these memories were agony themselves but still he continued. He wasn’t sure what drove him to these levels of honesty, just that he wanted to be honest. He just wanted to tell Shiro. Perhaps Shiro could help! Perhaps Shiro would provide some insight he’d never considered. Or perhaps Shiro would just listen and… and maybe that would be enough.

“The next thing I heard, she was planning a siege on my castle and we were attacked a matter of nights later. I fled, I hid, and I returned days later to find countless slaughtered servants who’d never harmed anyone in their lives. Prisoners of war were freed, some deserving and some undeserving. They didn’t get to my father. Too many died trying and they retreated but our lost numbers were more significant than theirs. I was blamed for the attack. My disappearance was considered suspicious and it was evidently suspicious enough for my father to pin the blame solely on me. I wasn’t allowed out of the castle again until I was twenty-five years of age, and even then it was only for the gladiator fights. The weight of what she did burdened me until I died. I didn’t know if she had taken advantage of me to learn of the castle enough to attack or if she had genuinely loved me. All I know now of her now is that she became a Goddess after she died. Not how she died, how she lived, how old she was or whether she was loved or hated. All I know is that she became the Goddess of the White Lion upon dying- a fate I still consider to be unjust compared to where I am.”

Shiro frowned at him, his brow furrowed, his eyes rounder and softer as he peered up at Lotor sitting on that rock. “Gosh, Lotor,” he said softly, shaking his head. Shiro lifted his hands to the opposite arms, hugging himself a little as he looked off to the side. It was colder -- he had left the blanket he had over his shoulders back by the stream bank and it was probably too damp and muddy for proper use anymore. Something Lotor had said, however, made Shiro feel a little bit colder. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact phrase or words… but there was something in Lotor’s retelling of is tragic love life that caused a sharp chill to dart down his spine. “That… sucks. I’m sorry…” 

He didn't know what to say after that, really, so the both of them sank into a long silence. Shiro kept his eyes on the ground, studying the flecks of white moonlight that sprinkled past the dancing canopy of leaves above them, studying it with dim interest. Lotor resumed sketching, obviously done waiting for Shiro to think of something to say. The scratches of his pencil whispered along with the other white noises of the night, the forest settling back down in its state of peace after Lotor’s screaming. 

“There had to be someone else, right? After Allura?” Shiro asked, daring a look up at Lotor. Lotor didn't look back, seeming uninterested as he shook his head back and forth at Shiro’s little question. “Then who was your soulmate? Everybody has one. Had one, I mean. There had to have been someone else. Unless your cat.. Kova? Yeah, Kova. Unless she was your soulmate.” Shiro frowned, and shook his head a little. “But… in that case she would have been with you in Heaven. Animals don’t go to Hell unless their owner sells their souls, and then they become Hounds.”

“Never another,” he said softly. “I was either a mistake in the system, a human without a soulmate, or as you suggested my soulmate went to hell. I haven’t any memories of being with anyone. My life was… rather short lived after that. I don’t think that I lived to see my twenty-sixth birthday come around, meaning I hadn’t even had the luxury of twelve months of freedom before perishing. With how my afterlife is going, it’s safe to assume that my luck has yet to turn. Someday I’ll find Allura again. I’ll tell her what I truly felt the day she walked out on me instead of simply nodding, accepting it, and wishing her the best on her way out. Someday I’ll tell her face to face that she broke my heart and put me through emotional torment I can’t even begin to describe.”

The words settled for a few moments but, out of nowhere, the weight seemed to lift from his shoulders and his demeanour changed. He gave Shiro a smile, getting to his feet.  
“Perhaps we should be heading back. You’re shivering and it’s getting late. I want to make sure that you get adequate rest until you’re fully healed after that church incident.” He pulled Shiro to his feet and tucked his sketchpad under his arm. “Lead the way. If you have any burning questions you want to ask, feel free to ask them. If you can’t remember your past then the least I can do is share mine.”

Shiro wobbled just barely on his feet, offering Lotor a concerned sort of stare once his was steady. “How’s your back? Are you sure you’re alright to walk?” he asked gently, face still a little red from the kindness of Lotor’s last few words. He began forwards slowly, snapping his fingers for Atlas to join them. “I could teleport us back. I mean, it’ll probably suck for me, I‘ll get over it.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Lotor said despite how his words held no faith. He took a few steps forward before his legs crumpled beneath him and he fell to his knees. Using Shiro for support he brought himself to his feet again and began ahead. His legs were sore and weak and they felt like jelly but he didn’t care too much. He’d survive, he was sure of it.”

Reluctant yet willing, Shiro nodded and continued, still snapping for Atlas. He gave a low whistle when she failed to comply, and the sound of disturbed water sloshed about behind them. Atlas padded up to Shiro’s side, and then shook off in a mighty sort of wiggle, flinging an array of fat, cold droplets of springwater all over Shiro. He blocked The spray from Lotor as best he could, but he was sure some of the splash escaped him. When Shiro fluttered his eyes open, Atlas had eagerly plodded along in front of them, and Shiro had been just nearly soaked. 

“Attie!” Shiro cried, shaking his head. He spun around and started after her, but slowed to a halt and slumped over, still too tired for a game of chase. Shiro whined, bringing his hands back up to his arms and shivering in the gust of cool, nighttime wind. “Fucking dog… I can’t believe her.”

He turned to look over his shoulder at Lotor, huffing through his scowling lips. “Did she get you too?” he asked bitterly, waiting for Lotor as the half-angel continued down the path towards him.   
“Only a little,” Lotor said as he finally caught up with Shiro, taking ahold of his sleeve for that little extra bit of support. “But I’ll live. Let’s just get back and we’ll deal with it later. Okay?”

It did take them a while to get back, what with Lotor struggling to walk, but eventually Atlas provided her support by knocking Lotor off of his feet and biting down on the collar of his shirt. She was tall enough not to drag him along the floor when she tilted her head back but that didn’t make Lotor any happier about the situation. He had his arms folded over his chest, swaying this way and that with every step she took. Shiro was definitely amused by it and Atlas seemed to love jumping over the smallest of obstacles because of how it made Lotor panic. The first time she’d jumped she was leaping over a fallen tree and Lotor, who’d just begun to relax, screamed. Shiro, who’d been watching the scene with a cocked brow and a sly smile, laughed. Atlas just huffed through her nose at him and continued as if nothing had happened.

Shiro lead the way through the brush, leading the pouty Lotor and the proudly protective Hellhound back to the warehouse. He was much steadier back than on the way there, despite his shivering and the rather pathetic chattering of his teeth, and in a matter of maybe a half an hour or so, he was holding back a branch for Lotor and Atlas so they could pass into the field of the warehouse. The odd trio made their way in through the back door, and into Shiro’s makeshift bedroom. Atlas had carried Lotor all the way to the mattress, setting him down gently upon it, and then plopping down into a satisfied sort of sit, her tongue lolling out of the side of her smiling muzzle. Shiro, laughing a little at Lotor’s blushy pout, started his way towards a little crater in the center of the room, blackened with streaks of ash and smoke stains. 

He plopped himself down into a seat at the edge of the small little firepit, reaching back for a bag of dry wood and then dumping it out into the makeshift divot. Shiro spared a glance at Lotor, who’d been petting the meowing Feathers, and then turned back to the firepit, raising both hands over the wood before closing his eyes and searching for scraps of power. His fingertips sparked weakly. Shiro grit his teeth, shook his suddenly light head, and tried again. The next spark was brighter and more powerful -- the magic leapt from his fingers and caught onto the wood. Shiro used the rest of his magic to fuel the flame, his hand trembling as he drew it back from the now blazing fire. He swayed, but he stayed upright, lifting his hand up to wipe away at another spill of blood that trickled from his nose. Shiro made sure to wipe it away before Lotor could see, biting back his groan and blinking back the unnatural colors that flashed in his eyes at the exertion. 

“Come over here to dry off,” Shiro called weakly, scooting back some on his knees so he wasn’t too close. “There’s no heat in here and your half human… sorta. You could catch a cold or something.”  
“You’re the one who needs it,” Lotor said as he slipped out of the bed. Atlas whined, trying to coax him back with her dismal whimpering but Lotor had soon settled by the fire. By Shiro. He took a blanket and began drying Shiro off with it. He scrubbed his hair dry and soon picked up a spare blanket, wrapping it around the demons shoulders. Shiro let himself get pampered, too tired to object despite his heavy blush as Lotor continued on talking. “I didn’t get much on me and I don’t want you getting ill. Just relax a little. Stay by the fire and relax.”

He settled beside Shiro, scooping Feathers onto his lap. His head tipped onto Shiro’s shoulder absently as weakness and exhaustion took over him.  
“I’ve never told people about my life before,” he mumbled sleepily. “I’ve never had anyone that I trusted enough to tell. I didn’t want pity and I didn’t want people assuming that they needed to save me. Now I could tell anyone. It doesn’t matter- it doesn’t feel like it’s my life. It feels like reliving someone else’s life through my memories so I don’t mind telling you about it.”

Shiro gave a soft sigh, his eyes turned towards Lotor and his resting head. Lotor was warm -- very warm. Shiro absently shifted a little closer to him, closing his eyes as he nodded along to Lotor’s words. “Well,” he started, swallowing softly before he spoke, “you’re stuck with me for a while, so you don’t really have much else to do but tell me things… and I don’t really have much else to do but listen.” He gave a tired laugh, the little huff drifting off into the crackling of the fire before them.   
“Really, though,” he said after a moment or so. “If you have things to say, Lotor, say them. I’ll listen. I won’t judge too hard -- I mean, getting thrown across the room is one thing you can’t not judge.” Shiro paused to laugh again. “But, uh… don’t expect much pitying or coddling from me. You don’t have to worry about that. I’m a demon, remember? Incapable of feeling anything but rage.” It was a joke, but there was no laughter from Shiro at that last little part. In fact, his voice had grown somewhat dismal. “I’ll listen though. I can do that much.”

Lotor’s gaze had drifted from the fire to Shiro while he spoke.  
“It’s a cruel way to live,” he murmured to Shiro, beginning to twirl Shiro’s white tuft of hair around his fingers. He still stayed close, even as Shiro’s cold body stole away his heat. “Consumed by rage and the only way to survive is to fuel the fire to avoid burning out… What a cruel trick played by god, supposedly our saviour. Not teaching the bad to get better but forcing them to be worse. Not teaching the good how to live with natural emotions.” He just held Shiro, eyes closing as he pressed into his neck. “Please, rest. You need your rest. I’ll try to recall some more stories to tell you in the morning.”

Shiro gave a soft sigh, almost shrugged his shoulders, but then remembered that Lotor’s head had been resting there. “Alright,” he said, not really knowing what else there was to say. 

He was leaning into Lotor as Lotor leaned into him, the two of them kept upright by each other. Shiro’s head bobbed forwards a little despite his trying to stay awake until the fire died out, his eyelids sinking further and further as he let himself relax. He didn't even notice he had been purring ever so quietly until a stronger bout of those rumbles stirred him from his half-slumber… but even then Shiro was too tired to freak out and try to stop them. He figured Lotor had been deep in his own slumber anyways -- there was no reason to care. 

So he sat there, purring, slipping into the darkness of sleep with the warmth of Lotor beside him and the warmth of the fire before him. 

Shiro was asleep before the first log even got to burn up completely.


	18. Defiling a Church

Four days and four nights passed, and both Shiro and Lotor grew stronger. Shiro regained his power from the darkness, and Lotor from his training and his care over the blistered over wound on his back. Both of their injuries, while Lotor's still a little fresher, were healed up to nothing but an itch by the time the third day came around -- an itch Shiro was scolded for scratching, but no longer a pain. Shiro could summon things without bleeding, and he could even teleport a short distance without completely falling over. The moon above was slimming with each time it rose, the New Moon making its slow way forward -- and, unlike last time, Shiro had a plan of action already mapped out in his head.

"So," he hummed to Lotor the morning after the fifth night, tossing a ball up and down out of boredom. In the crook of his arm he was holding that stuffed wolf from the carnival all that time ago -- something he had previously kept in his heater out of sheer embarrassment just a few days ago. It seemed he'd gotten over it. "Day before New Moon -- are you still up for paying our evil witch lady a visit? Ohh, I can't wait to bash her skull in. After she gives us answers, of course, but still. That bitch is gonna get what's coming."

Shiro had been spending a lot of time with Lotor since that night by the spring. Sure, before he had been rather close to the half-angel creature, but then it seemed almost as if they were inseparable. Shiro would hang around while he trained or watch while he wrestled with Atlas. He would sit behind him and peer over his shoulders whenever Lotor would draw. He would ask Lotor to come with him whenever he went out, always being sure to stay nice and close to Lotor's side whenever the creature would agree to leaving the warehouse. The only thing he didn't let himself do was sleep in the same bed with Lotor -- whenever Lotor would curl up on the mattress, Shiro would simply sit down on the floor somewhere in the room and try not to watch him.

He would watch him, of course, to make sure he fell asleep. Maybe Shiro would check to make sure the blanket he would be nestled under were warm enough. Maybe he would find his gaze caught upon Lotor's features to study him properly, to watch the way the serenity of sleep overtook Lotor's brow and his eyes and his lips...

Creepy, yeah. But Shiro didn't care... watching over Lotor seemed to calm him enough to lull him into his own sleep in the little nest he built somewhere across the room.

The oddest thing about Shiro's new behavior was that it wasn't about wanting Lotor's blood or wanting to scent Lotor or even wanting to intimidate him. No... Shiro simply... he just chose to stay close to him. Lotor's presence was relaxing. Lotor's voice and his eyes and his lips (again with the lips?)... they were all things Shiro just wanted to be near. It was a personal choice. Not one made from instinct or evil or anything else like that. 

 

Lotor just made Shiro... feel something.

And Lotor had recently taken to telling Shiro story after story of his life on Earth. He told him of times when he was happy with Allura, times when he went out and little daring stories of when he defied his father. He also told sad stories, though- stories of people he had lost, friends he had been forced to kill and the bloodshed he'd watched. Shiro was the only person that he could talk to about this. It felt good to get it off of his chest, too. Shiro always told him whether or not it was okay to continue and Shiro listened to the stories he had. Even when Lotor was so scarred by a memory he would cry while telling Shiro about it, the demon would just listen patiently and let him speak.

It was reassurance that made him feel trusted. It strengthened their bond further.

When Shiro spoke to him, he turned his gaze from Atlas (who was curled up around him with her head on his lap) to Shiro.

"I don't know if we should," he said as he scratched behind Atlas's ear. "But... but she'll be putting everyone at risk. Demons and humans alike. It would be safer to deal with her." he managed to get Atlas's head off of his lap despite her whining and brought himself to his feet, leaving a small array of feathers on the floor and mattress. He'd begun leaving them almost everywhere he went- though he had no idea why his feathers were scattering so much more frequently than they had been before. "Are you determined to get revenge?"

Shiro nodded firmly. "Deadset," he said in a dark tone, catching the ball and squeezing it tight in his hands. "I'm going to knock that whole church off the face of the Earth. She made me cry. No one, especially not a human, makes me cry and gets away with it." He gave a soft huff and shook his head, dragging his gaze back up to Lotor. "'Cept maybe you."

"Definitely except for me."

He stood up when Lotor did, stretching and yawning. He didn't even realize he was walking towards Lotor until he was standing right next to him -- close and clingy... Shiro tried to dismiss it.

"Revenge or not," he started, rubbing the back of his neck, "Honerva knows things. She has answers. And we've got plenty of questions. We can ask her about how she was able to live so long, what she's doing with a fucking cult, how she knows me, and then we can see if she knows anything about your, uh, problem." Shiro gestured Lotor, frowning a little. "Maybe she can help you get back to full on angel or something."

Lotor's frown deepened but he got to his feet and began to the door regardless.

"As much as I hate to consider that my fate may rest in the hands of that witch, it's possible and I need to be aware of all potential outcomes. And I need to be prepared for when things turn violent. Peace negotiations won't work this time- she made that very clear." He didn't focus on Shiro for much longer, already leaving the warehouse with Atlas at his heel.

"Are you able to teleport or are we going to walk there? It's quite a distance away."

In fact, it was entirely the other end of town. Not only would it exhaust Shiro if he did try but having him teleport three people into a church was a foolish idea in itself. Beyond that, the chances of there being a trap of of Honerva suspecting their arrival was worrying. Extremely so. The only benefits of teleporting would be that it would save hours of walking and prevent the church from realising that they were returning. The pros and cons were so messed up that Lotor didn't know what to do and due to his lacking knowledge of human culture he didn't know that there were alternate methods of transportation. There had been carts pulled by horses when he was alive but his time spent with Lance made it clear that those were a thing of the past.

Shiro blinked. "Wait, what?" he said, his brow shooting up on his forehead. "You... you want to go now? New Moon is, like, a few more days away, Lotor. What if I... uh, I mean not that I'll let it happen again but, uh, what if they overpower me again? Love the enthusiasm, buddy, but Holy water hurts. I don't really wanna get splashed again."

"I'll be with you, though, won't I? If they overpower you then I'll be able to provide you with support."

Shiro caught up to Lotor's side, watching him curiously through the corners of his eyes. Shiro wouldn't argue if Lotor wanted to go, of course. He would follow. He would follow and he'd watch over Lotor the best he could -- with the power of the New Moon or without it, Shiro would never let Lotor go do such a task alone.

"If we are going there right now... maybe we should walk," Shiro said, shrugging his shoulders. "It would probably be smart to save my magic... unless you want me to teleport you there. I could suck it up."

Lotor watched him.

"You enjoy using your power for whatever you want during the New Moon so I don't see why we should waste it on her. Especially not when i won't be able to rein you in. You're too volatile when it comes to having power and I don't want to risk getting hurt or having you do something stupid because you're caught up in the moment." He stopped dead, having just reached the edge of the hill. "Last they met you, you were weak. They'll be expecting for you to return when you're fully energised. They'll be ready then. They won't be ready if we go now and if you save your energy we should be fine."

Shiro nodded a little, looking down at his feet. "I guess that makes sense," he said, laughing a little. "Smart, Lotor."

Lotor turned back to continue walking- before turning to a tree and tearing off a plank of wood. "Have you ever been sledding before?" he asked, putting it on the floor by his feet.

Shiro looked up at him at the splitting sound of the tree, his eyes narrowed. Lotor's question hung heavy in the air for a moment or so, the demon's eyes flicking from the long strip of bark, to Lotor's smirking face, and then back again. "No, I haven't been sledding," he said hesitantly, furrowing his brow. "But it's not even snowing-" Shiro couldn't finish before Lotor cut him off.

"Me neither." He flashed Shiro a grin, stepping onto the board and leaning his weight forward. He moved slowly for a second or so before gravity did its job and he went shooting down the hill. It wasn't too fast from Shiro's perspective but Lotor hadn't moved so fast without putting in the effort before- it was almost a miracle when he made it to the ground in one piece. Even if he did end up falling onto his ass when the sled bumped against a rock. He turned, still on the ground, and waited for Shiro to join him.

Shiro, his mouth fallen open and his eyes as wide as plates, watched Lotor down at the bottom of the hill, waving his arms and beckoning for Shiro to join him. He hesitated a second or so, not really liking the idea all too much, but after a long moment or so, he muttered a soft fuck it and stepped over to that tree. He carefully peeled off his own strip of bark, quietly told the tree he was sorry, and then set the makeshift sled down at the precipice of the little hill. Shiro plopped down upon it and gave his future journey a nervous sort of glance.

"If I hurt myself," he called to Lotor, shaking his head, "I'm blaming you!"

"If you hurt yourself, we'll know that I'm better!"

Shiro placed both his hands on the sides of the sled, and pushed forwards before they desperately scrambled for some kind of hold as the makeshift sleigh began to tip forwards. He went sliding just about as fast as Lotor did -- but again, first person perspective made the ride seem a bit faster than watching from the side. Shiro let out a sound that was almost a whoop of half enjoyment and half fear as his little sled rumbled down the uneven path Lotor's had created. In no time, Shiro was at the bottom of the hill, his sled taking the exact route Lotor's had. The rushing adrenaline of his ride had him fail to notice the rock that had debunked Lotor from his bark, and the same fate soon took ahold of Shiro. There was a hitching bump, Shiro lost his grip, and he tumbled off of his sled, the wooden thing chattering atop of Lotor's as Shiro fell the other direction with a grunt.

Unlike Lotor, Shiro didn't Lance on his ass. No, instead he sprawled forwards, scuffing his elbow in the process. Shiro pushed up a little, previously snapped eyes fluttering, his hands feeling the odd surface before him as he grounded himself and his senses. Once Shiro could see, he found his stare latched onto another's. He also found his hands feeling about someone's chest. He also found himself nearly straddling another person's body.

Fuck.

"Lotor!" Shiro cried, pulling his hands from Lotor's chest rather quickly. He tried to stand up but he was on his knees, legs spread in an awkward kind of way over Lotor's body. "I-uh-shit. Sorry. Lost control of the, uh, sled."

He tried to scoot back a little, but all it did was make it all the more awkward with unnecessary friction. Shiro was glowing the brightest red ever possible for a demon with dark blood— it was quite a feat, really. He shook his head. "Are you okay? I basically just crash landed on you." Shiro's voice was high in pitch. He cleared his throat and shook his head again. "I could have, like, broken your ribs or some shit!"

Upon recovering from the shock, however, Lotor just began to laugh. He grinned, looking up at Lotor and laughing as if it was the funniest thing to happen to him in days. Which, in all fairness, it probably was.  
"You always seem to end up on top of me," he said as he studied Shiro. It was such an unusual reaction from a demon- he was so flustered and embarrassed and he was clearly sorry. How sweet. "I'm alright, Shiro. No harm done."

His head settled back on the ground and he lifted his gaze, turning to study their surroundings for a few moments.  
"Hey," he began, turning his attention back to Shiro with a slick grin. "You do know that you can get off of me, right? I wouldn't object". It was fun to watch it, though. It was amusing to see this perfectly slick demon, the same one who manipulated and killed with ease, so flustered because of one harmless slip up.

Shiro choked back an embarrassed squeak, and nodded his head fast, placing his hands back onto Lotor's chest. With a turret of mumbled sorry's, Shiro pushed up into a wobbly stand over Lotor, now standing over him, his feet planted at either side of Lotor's waist. Shiro looked down at him for a moment or two, the beauty of the mid-morning daylight casted upon Lotor's smirking features making Shiro's stomach twist. The half angel was just there. Beneath him. Splayed out for him. His broken halo floated delicately round slightly mussed hair, strands of which falling over warm, kind eyes that smiled right along with those pretty lips of his. God, those lips. Shiro, for an instant, wanting to sink back down and just press his own lips to them for a long, long while.

"No... no..." Shiro groaned, lifting a hand to his head. He knocked the base of his palm to his forehead as he stumbled back. "Shut up. Shut up. No."

He spun around on his heel, forcing his back on Lotor and his suddenly concerned stare.

"Woah, hey, I- What's going on?" he asked as he pushed himself up a little, slowly getting to his feet and reaching out to take Shiro's hands.

Shiro winced, rubbing his temple. "Lotor... I..." he started weakly, shaking his head. The demon stopped, however, trailing off into nothing. He gave a deep sigh, slumped his shoulders, and darkened his eyes a bit. "Just a headache. Some voices. You know — demon stuff. Sorry. Let's keep going."

"No," he said sternly. "No, none of that. If you have a headache we'll wait. Are you sure it's safe to keeping going? Are you sure that if we go together you won't be straining yourself?"

Lotor took another few steps forward and delicately cupped his cheeks. He was clearly concerned about Shiro, not wanting to strain him and yet he was entirely unaware of what the problem truly was. "Maybe we should wait..." he sighed a little. "It might be dangerous to wait that long but I don't want you to get hurt." He was clearly so concerned about Shiro, unaware that Shiro was lying to him. Blind trust, apparently.

Must have been because he used to be an angel.

 

Or maybe he genuinely did trust Shiro and didn't want to believe it. It was a strange thing to consider, bearing in mind that Shiro was a literal demon, but it did make sense. He did trust Shiro- they'd saved and helped each other more times than they could count- but he didn't like the idea of putting so much faith and trust in someone who had so much power over him.

And Shiro could see that trust in Lotor's eyes, the stare simply washing over him — Lotor's fingers inspiring that buzz about Shiro's entire face as he stood pinned beneath Lotor's graciousness. The sight was enough to make him shudder. The sight was enough to get him back to thinking about those lips. They looked soft, curled into a gentle smile. Not chapped or rough like Shiro's were. Perfect for kissing... and the scene — the scene was perfect for kissing too, wasn't it? They were close. Lotor's hands were around Shiro's face. The lighting was right. The situation seemed right.

They could kiss. Shiro could kiss him. Only if he leaned up a little more... maybe push up on his toes...

No Shiro. He doesn't like you. Not like that.

He pulled back from Lotor's hands, shaking his head a little. "I'm fine," he assured, telling the truth in regards to his nonexistent headache, but lying in regards to the turmoil of his system. Shiro held up a hand, flicking out his thumb. "I'm fine. Let's keep going. A nice witch-hunt should make me feel better, anyways, right?"

Lotor offered up a small smile, turning back to the route they were due to take and beginning to plan his way through the tangled messes of trees and thorns.

"Oh, definitely," he offered up a smile as he spoke. "Nothing raises the spirits as much as blood getting spilled, hm? It was a popular pastime in my father's empire. I despised it, of course, but the people adored it."

Shiro watched as Lotor wove through the branches ahead of him. Lotor would never want Shiro to kiss him. Not after the last time they kissed. Not after what Shiro did to him. A demon and an angel? It was pathetic of him to even consider the idea — to even let the words cross his mind in the same fucking sentence was pathetic. Half-angel or no. Reformed demon or no. Shiro was garbage and Lotor was pure sunshine. They weren't even polar opposites — they were just totally different. Lotor was just that much better.

Shiro was just that far beneath him.

"Let's go," Shiro insisted, just to let something interrupt his thoughts. "There's a bitch that needs killing."

Lotor nodded and, without a word, began through the branches. He was careful not to let his hair get snagged or tugged at, weaving through branch after branch. Feathers got caught here and there, leaving a small trail behind him as they were painlessly pulled out- like loose hairs- and his shattered halo simple passed through any objects it came into contact with. His only priority was preventing his hair from getting caught so that he wouldn't further disgrace himself.

Losing his hair was a mercilessly cruel thing to do- and an extremely unnecessary action to take. He hadn't killed anyone (in fact, he'd saved a teenager and his dog) so why did he lose so much of his hair? Was it for killing himself? Was betraying his halo in exchange for human lives truly a form of suicide?

No, it was better not to think about that. About the fate that he was condemned to.

Maybe it was better to focus on the task at hand. If all went well he'd be getting answers pretty damn soon and he needed that.

Shiro simply followed, reckless as ever, his face still hot and his eyes still a bit darker — trained on the ground as he shoved back the self loathing as best he could, trodding through the crunchy leaves and snapping twigs. They scratched at his arm and at his hand whenever he lifted his hand to hold a branch back. Once he lost his grip and a particularly sharp branch slashed a soft scratch across his cheek. Shiro just growled at himself and continued on, following Lotor and his trail of feathers for a long while.

Soon the path became familiar. Soft chills traveled up and down Shiro's spine as his mind took him back to the night Honerva and her followers kicked his ass with all that Holy water and silver. He felt a twinge of fear at the memories... and then a hot pang of embarrassment, burning like a white hot iron rung plunged into his rib cage. As if his self esteem couldn't grow all the more despondent. Shiro ducked his head and let out a low sigh, pushing forwards out of the last wall of bushes behind Lotor. The field opened up before him as he emerged from the heavy brush, the land looking much less intimidating during the day.

Soft sunlight dampened by grey clouds caused the dewy, yellowish grass to sparkle. The small parking lot glistened wetly as well, harboring only one car — a beaten up pickup truck with chipping paint and ancient, rusted gears and pipes. The church looked tinier to him then as he dragged his reluctant stare up to the wooden structure. It still groaned and freaked eerily in the wind, but in the day the building a bit more shabby rather than the intimidating mass of wood and torture Shiro remembered. He was still cautious, however, as he crept up to Lotor's side, eying the clapboard building with a rather suspicious eye.

"Do you think she's in there?" Shiro asked in a whisper, his hand unconsciously finding Lotor's arm. It was too late to pull his hand away when he did realize, of course, so just he left it resting there. "How are we gonna draw her out? I can't go inside. Holy land weakens me. I'll be back to what I was when you found me in there."

Lotor glanced at the floor, picking up a rock and throwing it without second thought. He didn't bring the idea up to Shiro, either. It wasn't clear whether he was acting on impulse or if he'd already decided that he wanted to throw a rock and shatter one of those priceless stained glass windows. He heard the shouts and cries from inside as people dashed to gather around but he didn't care, picking up a second rock to throw through another window.

 

Shiro flinched wildly, his eyes shooting open wide. "Lotor! What the fu-!"

"That should draw them out," he muttered, cutting Shiro off as he straightened up. His gaze turned to the church, his gaze locking with that of Honerva. He picked up another rock, as if to insist that it was him who had thrown the rocks so she didn't assume it was Shiro again. And, as if to reinforce this idea even further, he pulled his arm back and threw the rock into yet another window. The third window shattered and the devoted began to leave through the empty windows, starting to approach the demon and half-angel stood outside.

Lotor just didn't seem to care about his reputation as an angel anymore. His sole objective right now was to deal with Honerva.

"We get the information we need and we kill her," he said softly. "If she had truly chosen a path to avoid facing the Gods then I'll send her to them myself. Perhaps that will be the ticket to earn me safe passage back- dealing with a vile witch such as Haggar."

He straightened up and recomposed himself, taking a breath.

"Don't let them take advantage of you, Shiro. You're stronger than you think. I'm counting on you for this. Do what you must- no matter how brutal." He sent him a glance, a small smile appearing on his lips. "Rack up a few extra souls on my behalf, hm?"

Shiro's mouth was wide open, his eyes trained on the flow of churchgoers as they fled from the doors of their attacked sanctuary. He moved a little closer to Lotor upon seeing some canteens gripped in the hands of the more aggressive looking of the flock, but he rose up his fists anyways. Shiro closed his eyes, drew in a breath, and his sword — normally reserved for New Moon — materialized about his forearm. There was a fast sort of dizzy spell, but the feeling left him quickly. Shiro fluttered his eyes open and poised for attack.

Fifteen or so people drifted from the church. In the center of the mass was Honerva herself — Shiro recognized the white mess of hair without even a seconds delay. Chills gripped him, but Shiro didn't let himself falter. The crowd bled forward, some of the smaller, frailer, or older people drifting towards the back of the group while it molded itself into a crescent moon shape around Shiro and Lotor. Murmurs floated throughout the flock, the same way they did when Shiro was pinned down in that church that week or so ago. The memory made him press even closer to Lotor, a scowl presented very presently upon his face.

Honerva moved out into the middle of the crescent. The group froze, all turned towards her as she strode forward. The atmosphere held its breath when she stopped — even Shiro and Lotor seemed to go tense. There was a heavy pause about all of them for a moment or so as the witch studied them, her hair tossing gently in the wind.

"You made a mistake coming here," Honerva said in her gravely tone. Shiro shivered again, and grit his teeth. "Didn't I warn you, Lotor, that next time we get the demon, we wouldn't be giving him back?"

Shiro heard Lotor take his breath before speaking, but he cut him off before Lotor could say anything to try and defend him. "You're not getting anything, you bitch," Shiro snapped, leaning forward a little. "You got lucky last time. Now you're fucking screwed."

The crowd murmured. Macidus took a step forwards — Shiro could see and recognize his snarling grin with ease — but Honerva held out a hand to beckon him back.

"What a confident facade for such a cowardly creature," she murmured. "You're pathetic, Takashi."

Shiro went rigid. "What?" He whipped his gaze to Lotor. And then back to Honerva. "What does that mean? Lotor? What did she call me? Takashi? What does that mean?

There was a soft laugh from the woman before them. "Did you forget your name too, my Champion?" she hummed, taking a soft step forward. "How ironic. In life you were so stubborn in regards to your name. No matter what I did to you, you never forgot. I suppose Hell just achieved what I couldn't."

Shiro was silent. Stunned. His hand found Lotor's arm, grasping onto the slack of Lotor's shirt. He couldn't even find the words to respond for a good moment or so, the world spinning. His thoughts spun right along with it.

My name is Takashi?

"Liar," Shiro muttered, shaking his head. "You're lying. You don't know anything about me. Nothing."

Honerva just smiled. "I do not lie, Champion," she hummed. "It's just up to you whether or not you believe me."

Shiro seemed to forget what Lotor had said about letting the flock and Honerva get to him. "Stop calling me that!" Shiro yelled, lunging forward. Something clasped his arm and held him back. A hand — probably Lotor — but Shiro ignored it. "Shut up, bitch!"

But when Shiro didn't calm down, Lotor took it upon himself to lift the demon from his feet and, in one swift movement, throw him a short distance with the technique he'd learned from when Allura had done it. If Shiro got too emotional he'd be blindsided to why they actually wanted to have him there. He'd forget the point of being here, caught up in anger toward Honerva. He couldn't take that risk.

Instead, he drew a sword of his own. It shifted in his hand, forming a rapier blade that he pointed toward his mother. The group had shifted forward while his back had been turned. How unsurprising for them to try to attack while his back was turned. It was about what he expected.

"Back! Keep your distance!" He shouted to them watching as none of them moved. Neither moving away nor coming closer. Of course they'd not comply.

Shiro pushed up from the ground on his elbows, blinking stupidly as his mind processed what had happened. First he'd been standing in front of Lotor... Lotor grabbed him by the arm... and then by the waist... and then...

And then Shiro was on the ground.

He blinked again and threw his gaze up to Lotor, who stood just in front of him, poised for fighting — body tense and his sword raised at the ready. Shiro grit his teeth and began to gather the voice to yell at him, but the glinting stare from Honerva just seemed to drain the words from his system. He looked at Honevera, who shifted her gaze back and forth between Lotor and Shiro, and felt his nerves boil. He was letting her get under his skin — Shiro needed to get his fucking grip on the situation. He pushed up into a stand, face set and determined as he moved back to Lotor's side.

"You could have just slapped me," he grumbled, squaring his shoulders and baring his sword towards the flock before them. "That would have been much more cinematic, anyways."

"I've wanted to throw you since you made fun of me for it so... two birds, I suppose," Lotor teased, glancing at Shiro before his gaze fixed back onto the crescent.

The group shuffled uncomfortably. A few of the older, trailer folks in the back began drifting back towards the church. Shiro quietly ran the numbers through his head — the fight would be about ten to two once he counted off those who wouldn't be too much of a threat. Of course, he could cut that ten in half due to the fact their adversaries were human. Honerva and Macidus took up the more challenging slots, the two of them followed by anyone else with those canteens of Holy water.

"I'll take Macidus," Shiro whispered to Lotor, dragging his eyes along the group before them. "I'd rather take Honerva because she doesn't have any Holy water on her, but she gets to my head. I'm gonna get burned — don't try and come rescue me or nothing, I'll handle it. Just focus on Honerva, and take out the smaller ones when they get to you. And remember: don't kill her."  
"You're the one who should have that reminder," he muttered sharply as he watched them, gritting his teeth a little. "Go."

Lotor turned away from Shiro and began toward the centre of the group, drawing his sword and pointing the blade directly at Honerva. He took a few strides forward.  
"I'm not aiming to kill anyone but those of you who get in my way will not be shown mercy. I'll make that clear for all of you, right now. Stand down and stay back and you'll be spared."

And yet, exactly as expected, nobody listened to him. They protected Honerva, swarming around her like it would be an honour to lose their life for her. He grimaced a little, taking half a step back and pointing his sword at the group.

"Then approach! If you're willing to lay down your lives for her, come and challenge me directly." They shifted, nervous, and Lotor watched as Honerva's hand settled on the shoulder of one of the women stood before her. She leant to her ear and murmured something, the girls hair stopping Lotor from reading her lips.

But she was the first to push past the group and approach. Honerva evidently expected foul play, keeping herself in the swarm of people to avoid any harm coming to her while her back was turned. Lotor looked at the woman who approached. She had ginger hair and dark red marks beneath her eyes- evidently indicators of Honerva's tribe. Those without the masks had these marks. He studied her for a moment.

"Give me your name," he ordered her, lowering his blade for a moment to show that he didn't intend on hurting her.  
"Luka." She didn't meet his eyes.

"It'll be an honour to fight you, I'm sure." He waited for a response but one didn't come.

So he took initiative. The sword disappeared from his hand as he figured it was an incredibly unfair advantage. No sooner than he'd taken a step forward did she rush over and swing a fist for his face. She was uncoordinated, sloppy, and he took a step out of the way with ease, dodging another and another before Luka stumbled and he swept her foot out from under her. Evidently her abilities lay in other tasks. She wasn't taught to fight, much less hand-to-hand. Especially not against an angel who had been taught during his human life to do nothing but fight.

She fell to the floor. Hard. Lotor took a step back and watched as she got up again, swinging her fist and sending a kick in his direction. Again- both were easily dodged and he was too nice to grab her ankle to knock her off balance when she kicked. She did that herself, unable to get her leg back underneath her in time as she crumpled to the floor. Lotor drew his blade again and held it to her throat.  
"Yield," he said softly, a low and hissed command- it was almost pleading. He didn't want to kill her. When she tried to push herself up again, he was forced to pin her down with his foot on her chest. Instead of killing her, though, his sword turned to a large wooden bat and he swung it down into her head to knock her out.

Human or angel or demon, Lotor couldn't kill her. He still couldn't kill her. Knocking her out would need to do for now. Then he turned to the next to be pushed forwards.

While Lotor fought his own battles, Shiro slinked his way around the crowd, allowing himself to get lost behind Lotor's fights. He crept along the curve of the now muddled crescent, eyes on Madicus as he flanked the man who was rather engrossed on Lotor and his fellow flock members. Shiro nearly made it close enough, the tip of his sword dragging painfully slow across the dried grass and cracked, caked earth, before Macidus spotted him out of the corner of his eye.

The man spun around, wielding his canteen. Shiro turned his body quickly, barely missing a fatal splash of Holy water, before lunging forward, his sword angled down towards Madicus's leg. His arm wrapped about Madicus's torso while the other plunged the sword deep into the man's thigh, the snap of bone and flesh deliciously familiar to Shiro's ears. Madicus screamed loud, and promptly crumpled. Shiro could feel the breath pushed from the man beneath him as he pinned against his chest, sword still pressed deep into the muscle of Madicus's leg, inspiring the gushing of sluggish blood and all the more howls to peel from Madicus's lips.

His upper hand didn't last long. Madicus's screaming had attracted an audience, and from that audience came a brave bunch of rescuers. Shiro had just twisted and pulled his weapon from Madicus's flesh when he felt a hot flash of pain splash about the back of his neck and shoulders. The demon cried out and whipped around, his bloodied sword soaring through the chilled air with the turning of his body. It sliced the stomach of a younger looking man who held nothing but a cross and one of those wretched canteens. He fell to his knees, hands on his gut, eyes wide with pained shock and surprise. Shiro leapt up to his feet, his back to the writing Madicus, his form tense and primed for fighting. Two pairs of hands clutched the shoulders of the man Shiro had just sliced open, dragging him back — away from the huffing beast and his crimson red sword.

Shiro flicked his eyes back to Lotor for a moment, spotting a flash of white braids.

Upon seeing that Lotor was still swinging — and swinging fairly well — Shiro turned back to his own gathering crowd or challengers. Three humans cautiously prowled forwards, two of which unscrewing their own canteens of Holy water, the third bearing a silver knife. The skin on his back sizzled and burned, and the reflective glint of the knife from the dim sunshine above hurt Shiro's eyes, but he readied himself up for fighting anyways. Macidus behind still sniveled and cried and coddled his leg — Shiro felt as though keeping him alive too would be best, anyways. He flicked his sword out beside him, whipping off droplets of stray blood across the yellowing grass.

"Alright," he said darkly through huffs and puffs of breath. "Who wants to go first?"

The three humans all exchanged glances. They looked back at Shiro, and continued forwards in that same creeping pace. All at the same time.

Shiro's brow furrowed, and he took a slight step backwards. "What happened to stupidly attacking one at a time?" he groaned, gritting his teeth. He squared his shoulders, huffed out a breath, and strengthened up his stance. "Alright. You're gonna piss me off. But alright."

They advanced — all three springing into action at once. Shiro blocked a stab from the left by grabbing the man's wrist, and lashed out with his sword to the right. The human in the middle let loose a splash of water from her canteen, just as Shiro felt his sword meet a crisp crunch of a rib cage. Shiro cried out as the human he struck had, cringing backwards as the white hot pain of Holy water slipped down the side of his face, getting caught in his eyelashes and gracing his lips. His hand flew to his face, and with the drop of his guard came the bite of a knife lashed clumsily at his arm. Shiro hissed and blindly attacked with his sword, simply swinging his arm from his right to his left. A dull thunk told him his sword had met something, something that he soon found had been the head of the middle human, but the sharp pain plunged into the back of his shoulder told him it wasn't the one with the knife he had attacked.

Shiro gave out a mangled sort of sound, this hissing burn of his own flesh sizzling in his ears as he reeled away from his attackers. He stumbled, and the back of his heel catching on the body of that woman he had maimed just before. Shiro cried out again as he hit the ground, the knife nestled deep in his shoulder burning like the fires of Hell itself. He whipped his head up, narrowing his eyes to see past the wall of strained tears. One last human was left, and it was the man with the knife... or who had the knife. He was weaponless then.

He reached back and grasped at the hilt of the humans knife. It hurt to touch, but it hurt more to wrench from his burned flesh. His breath rasped past his dry throat and his clenched teeth, sword in one hand and the burning knife in the other. The human took a step backwards, his eyes wide as they scanned over the bodies of his fellow flock members and the trembling demon who had killed them. One glance at the bared fangs and the blood speckled features and the just barely feral glint in Shiro's eyes and the man went running. He stumbled clumsily through the field, disappearing off into the brush Shiro and Lotor had come from, shaking his head.

The man didn't look back.

Shiro turned back to look for Lotor, spitting out a glob if black speckled saliva out onto the field. His face was burning. His shoulder burned. The black blood that gushed down from the slash on his arm and the stab wound on his back trickled and soddened his clothing — warm and sticky. The scent of human blood was powerful, the metallic scent wrapping him up. Shiro closed his eyes, grit his teeth, and shook his head fast. He didn't have time for feasting on corpses.

Shiro simply fluttered his eyes open and scanned for Lotor... and instead found Honerva. Seemingly oblivious to the chaos and the fighting. Watching him. Her eyes curious. Interested. Chillingly so.

"Lotor!" Shiro cried, prying his eyes from Honerva. "How are you doing? Do you need help?"

In fact, Lotor was doing pretty well. Aside from the scratches all over his body, the blood dripping down the side of his face, and his growing exhaustion, he was fine. In fact, he'd taken out more people than he hd scratches and he'd even made a point of not killing them. He was more merciful than Shiro, though that much had been obvious from the start. His sword turned to a staff and he swung it, taking out someones legs from under them while they'd been advancing. He turned and drove the hilt into another girl's stomach before swinging the staff back into the first person's head while their back had been turned. The impact was enough to dizzy them which would have to do for now.

 

"A little," he called over his shoulder when he got the chance to talk. "It would be appreciated! You help me with these two and I'll deal with the witch. Everyone around her has a canteen and I fear that you'd be in danger." He swung the hilt at the girl again. She dodged but took a step too close to Shiro and Lotor turned his back, letting the demon deal with her. Right now, he needed to focus on getting answers from the witch. He had too many questions. She had too many answers to keep to herself.

But the eery look of calm on her features as her church was slaughtered... Lotor didn't like it one bit.

She sent the 'flock' of the church off to fight for her like lambs to the slaughter and from the steely look in her eyes she didn't regret it. She didn't seem to care.

That only made it more unnerving.

Shiro jumped forward to attack the girl Lotor had left for him, simply using surprise to his advantage as he leapt at her from behind. She was easy to kill, of course. All he had to do was wrap one arm around her neck, and use the other to snap her head to far in one direction -- he was so fast she might not have even known what had hit her before she was dead. Shiro shoved her dead body forward, and cast his eyes down at the half-writhing-half-unconscious aftermath of Lotor's own battles. Shiro cocked his head, and then whipped it back up to find Lotor, his eyes narrowed.

"You're not killing them?" he asked in a wild shout, lifting an arm to block an attack from his right. It was someone who had already went against Lotor -- they were weakened and dizzy. Shiro made quick work of them with one upwards slash of his sword. A spray of blood and a thump of a body, and the problem was taken care of. Shiro wiped some blood from his face as he turned back to Lotor, who was busy with those protecting Honerva. "Come on, dude! This is kind of a kill or be killed situation!"

"If it's that big of an issue, kill them yourself!" Lotor shouted as he turned to face the flock surrounding Honerva. He took a few steps toward them, watching them raise their canteens as if it would do anything to someone with the blood and body of an angel.

He still approached. They held their canteens. A few of them were already beginning to unscrew the lids.

"Those won't harm me. Lower your weapons. I only wish to speak with..." he grit his teeth a little. "Honerva. She has answers to my questions. I won't harm her or any of you if you step aside and allow me to speak with her." That was a lie. He was determined to kill her before they left but it'd need to wait. His intentions could remain hidden for a little longer.

The group of humans all exchanged glances for a moment, looking from Lotor, and then to the injured survivors he had left behind, and then to the demon plucking off those survivors one by one in the background. A few of them shuddered, and a few of them gripped tighter holds onto their weapons and their canteens as if Lotor's words held no affect, but they all tensed upon the gravelly voice who rattled out a soft little command behind them.

"Let him pass," Honerva said simply, peering past her protectors to meet the flaming glare of the deranged creature before her. She nodded her head, and the group parted like the sea to form a pathway for Lotor, their eyes wide and wild with confused fright at their master's commands. "If you wish to be useful, go subdue the demon while I speak to our... guest."

Most of the group stood still at that last bit, nervous and wary, but five humans -- all of which baring canteens -- gave Honerva a steady nod and scurried off towards Shiro's direction.

Honerva smiled at the change, watching the worry flicker about Lotor's face as the half-angel watched the humans go. She took a soft step forwards, her head cocked, her brow furrowed. "Hello, Lotor," she murmured. Her voice seemed eerily curious in a way. "You wish to speak with me? About what, my boy? I won't stray from any question... most questions, at least."

"I expect nothing but honest answers to everything I ask," he announced sternly, taking one step toward her. "And I have a great number of questions that I want answered. My first question, one that has been burning in my mind since our first meeting- how are you still alive? You have lived for millennia and you're still alive. Aside from the slight changes," he was referencing her hair and her marks, "you're the same. What happened? How did you survive?"

He took another step or so forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he watched her. He was waiting for a response but the civil air between them didn't mean that he trusted her. Far from it, in fact- he would rather she were dead than anything else but he had too many questions that needed answering. He couldn't risk being selfish. No matter how strongly he wanted to end her life, he couldn't kill her. Not just yet. "You've done something cruel to survive, haven't you? How many sacrifices have there been to keep you alive?"

Honerva watched him for a long moment, the harshness of Lotor's tone interrupting her smile from before. "I am doing God's work, of course," she started simply, gesturing to herself. There was a pause, the silence only interrupted by the sounds of the uneven fight behind their conversation... Honerva made sure to speak up again quickly to keep Lotor from getting distracted by Shiro's obvious struggle. "For years I was the only one committed enough to carry out the wishes of the Lord. Ever since angels stopped slaughtering demons all those centuries ago, I knew I had to step up to fulfil my destiny. There were certain lines to be crossed. Certain... measurements to be taken to ensure I would be able to continue God's plan for as long as I possibly could."

She took a soft step forward, her smile back again but rather wan and cautious as she studied Lotor's tense form and features. "The Lord's first soldiers had failed him. It was time for a new... generation," Honerva said, waving her hand a little at the word generation. "A stronger generation. A generation who truly cared about the suffering of humans on Earth, and who truely loathed the scum of those from Hell. I was the leader of that generation -- I was their savior. I could not just die. No, death is too mortal for a savior. I had to resort to desperate measures to keep myself strong and healthy -- to keep myself in a shape fit for leadership..." Honerva trailed off, and she cocked her head again, lifting a hand and brushing a lock of thin hair behind her oddly pointed ear.

"You do know the amazing qualities of angel blood, don't you Lotor?" she asked him, her eyebrows raised innocently high on her head. "It's magnificent stuff. Cures wounds of any creature. Cures heartache. Cures fear. It even cures mortality, if one is to drink enough of it. And, my boy, I assure you, I have consumed quite enough of it."

Lotor just stared at her, disgust clear on his features. How vile.   
"Repulsive," he hissed to her. "I always knew that you were a disgusting creature. Heartless and brutal, yes, obsessed with violence and so eager to fulfil a purpose you never had but this? All of this? You're more disgusting than I thought. You think you are God's saviour? A special gift from the heavens to rid the earth of its demons? You, Honvera, are a wretch. Too vile for death to look upon your face and so death itself has rejected you! Not only death, but life! You rejected any chances of living a genuine life the second that you let your desires consume you and now you must pay the consequences of living such a cursed life." He took another few steps forward, anger filling his eyes with a blaze of passion.

 

He drew his sword, resting the tip of the blade just against her throat. She was weak and old. Angels blood could not cure her age and nor could it stop her skin from thinning, weakening. She may be indestructible when she drinks but without those little perks, she's nothing. Nought but a cursed and hollow husk of a woman.

"Death would be a merciful fate. Hell, a dismal pit of torture and suffering, would be too merciful for a creature like you and yet I wish to show you that mercy. If I allow you to live you will only inflict more suffering. Tell me, before I do anything to harm you, is my father truly dead? Sendak, Throk, Prorok, those of his friends who used to bully and torment me during my youth, are they deceased? And what of the generals who betrayed me? Ezor, Zethrid, Axca, even Narti?"

Another step.

"Answer me my questions, witch, and I will give you the most merciful death I can."

Honerva didn't waver -- her eyes just flashed with interest, wide with excitement at Lotor's rashness. It was almost as if the sword wasn't pressed against his throat. She was smiling again, the grin wide and malicious. "Oh, Lotor," she said softly, shaking her head gently. "So you remember them? You remember everyone who caused you misery but you forgot the one you threw everything away for? How interesting. I wonder why Heaven would do such a thing to you..."

Astonishingly, Honerva began to ease forward, the tip of Lotor's blade pressing dangerously hard against her throat. It did not split skin, but it grew close -- too close for what had to be anybody's comfort... but Honerva still smiled. "Your father is a demon in Hell, " she cackled, teeth bared in a nearly hysterical grin. "As for your fathers generals, why don't you ask Takashi? He knows them all fairly well, I would say."

She tipped her head up, and cocked her brow. "Speaking of the demon," she hummed, almost sweetly. "You might want to get to saving him. Wouldn't want my flock ripping apart your supply of blowjobs, would you Lotor?"

"He can last a few moments longer," Lotor hissed as he pulled back his sword. It turned from a blade into a staff and with one swing he had taken her feet out from beneath her. He took a couple of steps forward and placed his foot on her chest, applying enough pressure to keep her down and stop her from being able to breathe.

His staff turned back to a sword and he held it with both hands, the blade digging into her throat.  
"I don't care for your last words," he said in a snarl. "But if you have one thing left that you need to say, now is your last and only chance."

Honerva stared up at him, that deranged smile still splayed about her features. "You'd never do it," she cackled, shaking her head. "Not my Lotor. Not my son. Look me in the eyes and kill me! Look your mother in the eyes and see if you can strike! You could never!"

And that was the final straw. The mockery, the encouragements, he raised the sword a little more before he locked eyes with her. His stare was cold and cruel, not a hint of mercy showing as he slammed down the blade with as much force as he could manage. The blade plunged into her throat and his eyes remained locked with hers as the blood spilled into the grass. He heard a few distressed shouts from behind him as the flock became aware of what he'd done but he wasn't content yet. After everything that she had done, he wasn't content. She'd come back from worse and he wanted to make sure that she'd never be able to return.

His sword became a dagger and he dropped to one knee, straddling her corpse as he drove the blade into her skull again and again. Feathers were shedding from the wings on his back now, eyes wild and frenzied with a dull yellow glow. Blood was on his clothes, his hands, and flicked onto his face each time he brought the blade back down but he didn't care. He didn't have the strength to care about anything but making sure that her reign of torment wouldn't end.

"Die!" he shouted, the flock turning away from Shiro to try and get Lotor away from their priestess. "After all that you've done, this is the mercy I'll show you! I hope hell has reserved a special place for a monster like you!" He was too absorbed in his work, back turned to the flock as they approached with their weapons in hands and canisters grasped. Shiro would need to step in or he'd be killed with his back turned.

Shiro pushed up from the ground, one hand nursing a gushing wound on his head from a nasty silver knife, and the other clutched over his stomach, the skin still sizzling from the last attack from Holy water. He'd been just about ready to shout out some slurring remark to the remaining three members of the flock about why they had run off so quickly, but then he noticed the shouting of Lotor beneath the ringing of his ears. Shiro's tired, aching muscles went rigid, and he managed to pull himself up to his feet, watching the astonished flock begin to crowd around a crouched over Lotor -- who, even in his state, Shiro could tell wasn't quite in the right mind for some reason.

Growling, Shiro grit his teeth and summoned back his weapon. He spit a glob of blood to the ground, and charged forwards, letting out an almost guttural shout of attack as he swung his sword across, slashing the spines of two humans nearly clean in half. There was bloodshed, and then there was the crumple of bodies. The remaining two humans who would dare try to fight fell just as easily -- Shiro was heavily injured but he was also charged with malice, and maybe a sip or two of the claret red substance that danced about his open skin and mixed into his basically sodden clothing. He plunged his sword into the gut of one human, suffered one last attack with the Holy water from the other, and then simply lashed out with his claws -- catching the last of the flock's defenses across the windpipe with a spray of hot blood.

Shiro stumbled backwards, wrenching his sword from the corpse at his feet, and pointing it towards the rest of Honerva's followers. They were all older folks, mostly. There was one young girl -- just barely a teenager, really, who had her gaze trained on a body just a few inches from Shiro's feet. Shiro didn't really have the mind to care about the dismayed look on the little girls face... in fact... he nearly wanted to kill her too. His heart was racing. His skin was electric. His blood was roaring in his ears and spilling sluggishly from his wounds. He would had charged forward again to pick of the rest of Honerva's demented flock if it wasn't for the haggard breathing he managed to pick up under the rushing of his own adrenaline.

He flicked his eyes to Lotor, and noticed whose body the half-angel had been slumped over for the first time. Shiro blinked, a heavy thump of shock resonating throughout his system, and he turned back to the quivering group of humans. His daze of fighting and carnage lifted, like a fog or like curtains, and Shiro blinked again, shaking his head. He turned, spit out another collection of black blood, and then looked dead ahead towards the humans, squaring his tired shoulders.

"Get out of here!" he shouted, voice filled to the rim with anger. "Go! And don't make me regret it!"

And they scurried off. Like rats. Shiro scoffed at the sight.

He never liked rats.

Once the rest of the flock had been taken care of, Shiro felt himself slump. His sword evaporated away into its own little fold of reality, and Shiro felt his knees buckle beneath him. He prevailed against the fatigue of his system, however, and began to stumble towards Lotor, turning his head away to spit one last glob of blood before he collapsed down to his knees beside him.

"Lotor?" Shiro rasped weakly, his chest heaving. He was a mess -- those humans had, once again with their Holy water and their crosses and their silver, kicked his ass. Of course, it wasn't as bad as the last time, of course, but Shiro also didn't bleed as heavily last time either. He tried to ignore his condition, however, and focused on that of Lotor. Shiro reached a trembly hand up to touch upon Lotor's shoulder. "Lotor, buddy, we've gotta... get out of here."

No response. Lotor's eyes had been trained down at the dead witch in his lap. Shiro shook him a little.

"C'mon, Lotor," he panted, using his free hand to wipe some blood from his face. "We can't be here when the cops show up. We're both bleeding too... too much. I'm too weak to teleport. We have to go."

No response.

Shiro tried to scoot a little closer, thought he jolted to a stop and hissed sharply at a pain from a wound somewhere on his stomach, his hand flying from his face to his gut. Shiro fluttered his eyes open, and shook Lotor again. "Look, I don't know what she said to you, buddy, but I need you to snap out of it," he said quickly.

No response.

Shiro gave a huffing sort of growl, and brought his hand from Lotor's shoulder to cup Lotor's cheek, wrenching the half-angels face upwards to try and catch his eye. Tears buzzed beneath Shiro's bloody palm and fingers. Shiro tried to ignore it, desperately trying to get Lotor to see him past that odd glaze that clouded Lotor's eyes.

"Lotor? Lotor?" Shiro grit his teeth. "Come on, Lotor... please. I-... I need you right now. Come on, angel face. Come on."

Shiro didn't get a response.

"Damnit!" Shiro shouted, pulling his hand from Lotor's face to instead grip his own head. "Shit. Shit! What am I gonna do, Lotor? What am I gonna-..."

An idea popped into Shiro's head. A bad one. A really bad one. His eyes trailed up to Lotor's hands. One of them, of course, was splattered with the blood of Honerva, the speckle of red darker and almost disgusting compared to the other humans'. The other... the other had exactly what Shiro had been looking for.

A cut, sliced across the pad of Lotor's thumb, leaking just gently of silvery angel blood. Shiro swallowed hard at the sight of it, slowly bringing his own hands down from his face. He flicked his eyes up to Lotor, frowning guiltily, eyes round and sparkling with shame. "I'm sorry, Lotor," he said quietly, reaching for his hand. "If you can hear me, I'm sorry. This is a bad idea... but it's all I got. Just a few drops and I'll be able to get us home. I'll heal up enough to take care of you too. I promise I won't drain you..."

Slowly, Shiro pulled Lotor's hand to his mouth, hesitating a heavy moment before pressing his lips against Lotor's cut, and then hesitating another moment before letting his tongue run along the fresh wound of Lotor's hand.

The energy, as always, was instantaneous.


	19. A Design Flaw

"Are you with me now, buddy?"

Shiro's weak question was met with silence from the half angel he questioned in vain. He gave a soft sigh and looked back down to Lotor's hand, which he had been wrapping up tightly in medical bandages. Shiro had accidentally summoned up a whole crate of them while he was still pumped up on Lotor's blood and the adrenaline of the fight -- he had gotten them along with a few bottles of disinfectant and even a stitching kit he knew he had no idea how to use. Luckily, none of Lotor's wounds were anything worth stitching up. There was a slash on Lotor's cheek that was a little too deep for Shiro's comfort, but it didn't seem worth the risk, so Shiro simply bandaged it and crossed his fingers that it wouldn't scar. He had been working down Lotor's arm, delicately covering up scratches and bruises, and he would check in with Lotor every five minutes or so, just asking him to answer.

"That's alright," Shiro sighed, wrapping one of Lotor's busted knuckles. "You'll come around. I might have to slap you, but you'll come around... eventually."

His own wounds -- the larger ones the small dose Lotor's blood failed to heal -- still bled and bled rather heavily. Shiro's head felt a little light when he scooted back away from his mattress and the stoic Lotor, his hand reaching up to rub at his temple. He was sure he looked like shit -- crusted stains of black and red splattered and drying about his face, neck, arms, and hands. Busted knuckles and broken claws, red, raw skin from Holy water and burns the shapes of crosses along his back and abdomen. The stab wound in his shoulder still pulsed with the beat of his heart. His ears still rang a little, and his nose was still met with the sensory overload of human, demon, and angel blood all at once. It... it was a mess, to say the least.

But Shiro still made sure Lotor was fixed up properly before he was. Why? He didn't know.

Shiro was starting to realize he didn't know a lot of things in regards to Lotor.

"I'm gonna take off my shirt," Shiro said, reaching down for the hem of his tattered, blood sodden tee-shirt. "Fair warning. Maybe my amazing abs will snap you out of it? Fingers crossed, yeah?"

No response.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Shiro pulled the shirt up and over his head, nearly peeling it from his skin. He gasped and bit back a whimper at the strain it caused his stab wound, but he recovered quickly, dropping his arms and reaching for the medical alcohol. Shiro first poured it bout the front of his body, cringing at the sizzle of the cuts and slashes, and then he delicately poured the rest of the bottle out on his back, focusing on the large wound on his shoulder.

"Fuck!" he cried, snapping his eyes closed at the burn of disinfectant. "That hurts. How did you just sit through that, Lotor?" Shiro looked up, one eye pinched close in a cringe. When there was no answer, Shiro shrugged his shoulders and tossed aside the empty bottle. He reached for the bandages, and got to work on himself.

"The only thing I have that might need stitches is the stab wound," Shiro said aloud, wrapping his knuckles. Atlas sat beside him, licking some of the fainter scratches on his arm and willing them away with her kiss. Shiro would have had her do the same to Lotor, but he was sure it wouldn't work. A Hellhound could only cure souls it was connected to. "Attie can take care of the smaller stuff, but the rest is just gonna have to scar or scab. Luckily, New Moon isn't too far away so I won't have to deal with this fucking shoulder for too long. The magic should heal it right up." He looked to Lotor. "I don't know about you though. You're stuck with being injured for awhile. I'm sorry, man..."

No response.

Shiro paused his wrapping, his gaze suddenly stuck to Lotor's absent one. "Lotor," he said quietly, leaning forwards a little. "I... I don't know what's going through your head right now but... I might be able to help. If you talk to me. I'm no therapist but... I've literally been through Hell. Maybe I can understand some of whatever you're going through. But I can't if you don't talk to me. Please, Lotor, let me help..."

No response. Shiro sighed, and looked down to the floor he sat upon. "You probably can't even hear me, can you?"

But Lotor's gaze had lifted from the bed. He was no longer just staring emptily at the mattress, looking at the demon beside him.

"I killed her," he said in such a breathless, quiet whisper that it almost didn't sound like he'd spoken. It could easily be dismissed as the rustle of the blankets or the wind whistling through the warehouse walls. Feathers had crawled over and brushed up against Lotor's hand which gave him enough motivation to brush his fingertips through her soft fur. Slowly he was coming back.

Slowly he was coming to. He seemed to be focusing but little by little. Hearing Shiro's voice so consistently had given him something to latch onto and feeling the unfamiliar soft fur of his cat definitely helped bring him back. His eyes were still glassy, though, and still seemed to be looking straight through Shiro while he locked eyes with him. He was barely seeing reality. Feathers began to purr against him and his eyes flicked to her. Cute little Feathers. Barely the side of his forearm.

After a few moments of silence he spoke again. A little louder. Just finally getting the strength to speak up.  
"I killed Honerva. With my own two hands, I murdered her. Have..." his brows furrowed. "Have my talons grown longer? My halo... feels more shattered. My wings are shedding. The heavens would never want me now."

Shiro watched him cautiously, his hands frozen, suspending the bandages above his scabbed knuckles. "That's... that's okay," Shiro said, speaking with the same amount of wariness of someone crossing a lake over thin, cracking ice. He didn't want to say anything that would throw Lotor back into his unresponsive state. He certainly didn't want to make Lotor angry. Lotor was precariously balanced over the precipice of emotion... Shiro would have to be delicate. He didn't want to be the pebble that overturned him into any chasm of the cliff. "You still have an angels soul, if that makes you feel better but... you said yourself, Heaven is full of a bunch of pricks anyways. So what if they didn't want you... right? You're living your life here on Earth... with me..."

And I want you.

Shiro almost said it, but he stopped himself. It was stupid anyways — stupid and hopefully not true at all. Shiro was sure it wouldn't make Lotor feel any better anyways.

You're not wanted by Heaven anymore but hey! A disgusting demon wants you! What an upgrade!

Shiro could almost groan aloud at the thoughts. He shook his head a little and tried to find something to say. "She deserved to die, Lotor," Shiro said softly, shrugging up one of her shoulders. "She was a human trying to be a God... if you can even call her human. She was upsetting the order of natural things. She had to be shut down. You did the right thing, whether the God Squad thinks so or not."

Lotor was quiet for a few more moments and it almost seemed like he was going to fall victim to the unresponsive state again. Instead, he just took a few long moments to muster out a tired "She deserved worse." His gaze was fixed on Feathers now, the little kitten purring as she nestled against his hand and those twitchy fingers as they brushed through her fur.

His eyes trained back on Shiro, swarming with an unfamiliar darkness.

"I wish I could have done worse. Is that bad?" one hand reached out without Lotor even realising, settling atop of Shiro's. "You know about these things... is it bad? I wanted to... wrap my hands around her throat... I wanted to kill her in a hundred different ways. Does that make me a monster...?|

Shiro's eyes flicked down to Lotor's hand settled down upon his own, and, bandaged or not, the buzz of their contact still prevailed. He turned his gaze back up to Lotor, and cocked his head a little, trying hard to comb through his knowledge to find an acceptable answer to such questions.

"Lotor, you didn't kill any of the rest of them. You let them live even after everything they did," Shiro said softly, leaning forwards a little. "A monster wouldn't do that. I... I didn't do that. Honerva deserved what she got and worse. You're right. There's nothing wrong with wanting justified revenge, Lotor. You killed the one who had to be killed, and even though you wanted to hurt her more, you didn't. You're not a monster. Take it from the monster himself. It takes one to know one... and believe me, you aren't one."

Shiro smiled at him, and leaned back again. He kept the hand Lotor had been holding fairly still, but with his other he continued to nurse himself, awkwardly wrapping his arm with his one hand. "If your bandages are too tight, tell me," he said, flicking his eyes down to his work. "I have to admit, I'm not the best doctor..."

"She said something." He changed the conversation back almost immediately. "She said something about you and I want to know if what she said was true and I'll be going to hell eventually so if I go there and find out that you're lying I'll put you through an entirely different kind of hell."

 

His head lifted and he turned his gaze to Shiro again. His gaze was piercing now, fixated on Shiro with an unfamiliar coldness.  
"I'm going to tell you a list of names and you're going to tell me which of them you recognise, which you know personally, and which you are friends with. Am I understood?" He didn't wait for a response. It wasn't optional. "Good. Sendak?"

Shiro's blood went cold at the name, his whole system stuttering in its tracks. "He's... my boss," Shiro murmured quietly, flicking his eyes to the ground. "I've mentioned him before, right? Once or twice? He, uh, oversees my soul count. He also oversaw my torture. I wouldn't mark him on my friends list."

"But you know him and spend time with him. That's what I wanted to know."

Lotor hesitated, taking a breath to calm himself down before he began to speak again. "Throk?"

Shiro's features went sour. "Shit. That guy's an asshole. He kicked Attie once and I couldn't do anything about it because Sendak was there."

"Prorok?"

Shiro offered a slow nod. "That poor bastard. He crossed Sendak a while back and he fucked him up. He'd be better off dead if you ask me."

Lotor was quiet for a few long moments, processing the information. Trying to figure out how to tread from there.  
"Zethrid?"

Shiro furrowed his brow, and he thought for a moment. "No," he said decisively after a few seconds of deep thought. "Don't think I ever heard that one."

"Ezor? Zethrid? Narti?" Each received their own little shake of Shiro's head and Lotor paused for another few second before speaking again.

 

"And for this one," he began sharply. "If you lie to me, I don't even know what I'll do to you. Do you know Zarkon?"

Shiro's eyes widened at Lotor's threat, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up on end at the malice of Lotor's tone. It had been awhile since Lotor had threatened him like that... Shiro had to admit it didn't really stir up any happy memories either.

Neither did the name Lotor had mentioned.

"Nearly everyone from Hell knows him," Shiro murmured weakly, reaching a hand back to rub his neck. "He's... awful. Luckily I've only met him once or twice -- and it was a long time ago. I don't really remember it all that well... but I know he tortured me. Which is weird because he's not a torturing demon -- he's one of the top dogs who sit real close to the throne, you know? He just thought I'd be fun to mess with, I guess..."

Shiro's tone had gone quiet. He didn't like talking about it -- not Hell, not torture, not Sendak, and especially not Zarkon -- but Lotor had asked... and judging by the tone of Lotor's voice, he needed those answers. Shiro swallowed hard and shook his head a little, trying to get himself out of whatever sudden feeling he had sunken into. "But yeah, I know everyone but those four you said. I don't like any of them, but I know them," Shiro said, clearing his throat. "Why? Do you know them or something?"

"Knew them," Lotor corrected under his breath, tone still carrying the same malice. "I knew them. When I was alive, I knew all of them. The four you didn't know were the ones I used to regard as friends. You are aware that Honerva was my mother, yes? Well Zarkon is my father. Was my father. He was the worst man I knew and his friends, his associates, the other names that you mentioned..." he paused a moment, suddenly changing his mind. "I don't want to talk about it. I changed my mind, it's irrelevant. You don't like them and that's that. As long as you don't like them and you aren't going to have them visit you, we'll leave it at that."

He pushed himself to his feet, scooping up Feathers and starting to leave when Atlas made her grand reentry having left to explore sometime during their conversation, coming zipping into the room through the door and barking as she saw that Shiro and Lotor were back. The loud noise was dizzying and hurt his head, Feathers hissing at her for the loudness. She shot in, jumping around and dropping to lie down as she looked at Shiro. She didn't seem to be registering that he wasn't feeling okay and that she was being too loud for him and for Lotor.

Shiro, however, threw her a glare and snapped out a harsher command of silence -- in Latin, no less. It was rare he reprimanded her, and even rarer he would do so in the tongue that had most control over her, but for some odd reason Shiro felt he had no choice... not with Lotor so... delicate. Atlas, of course, instantly calmed herself -- the playfulness leached from her system in an instant, and instead filled itself the mostly stoic yet slightly guilty attention of a loyal hound. She stopped jumping, made her way to Shiro's side, and sat down -- her posture straight but her ears a little drooped. Shiro noticed that, of course, but he waited for Lotor to leave the room, watching him carefully as he stalked off with Feathers. He thought about calling to Lotor and asking him to be careful, but by the time Shiro had gathered the courage, he was already gone. Shiro just shook his head and turned back to Atlas.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, reaching up a tired arm to rub against her shoulder. "I didn't mean to yell."

Atlas looked down at him, and gave a slow sort of blink. Shiro knew that meant it was okay. He smiled a little.

"You just have to be more calm for a while," Shiro murmured in continuation, his eyes drifting down to his hands. He began wrapping his fingers again. "Learn how to read the atmosphere, baby. Neither of us are in a good mood." Shiro finished with the last of his injured knuckles, cut the tape from the roll with his teeth, and then set the roll of bandages down upon the floor along with the rest of his medical supplies. He then turned to Atlas, and reached his hand up for her face. She ducked down on command, and as soon as she was level enough with him, Shiro pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Te amo," he whispered, smiling a little. Latin again -- Atlas's ears perked up. "I love you. Don't tell anyone." Atlas responded with a thump of her tail. She turned her head and gave him a slobbery kiss to his cheek, to which Shiro giggled. "Alright, alright. Enough of that." She just kissed him again, tail thumping a little against the concrete flooring. "Ha- hey! I said enough! You already healed all the wounds on my face."

A brief attack of kisses from Atlas later, and Shiro was already feeling a little better. He began to wrap up his shoulder, crossing the bandages over his chest and up around his arm while Atlas healed a few scratches and burns about the rest of his exposed skin. Once he had finished with his throbbing shoulder, all he had left was to bandage a deeper slice on his thigh, and maybe splash some normal water on the burns from the Holy kind on his legs. Shiro, slowly, unzipped his pants, and rolled them down to his knees, groping for the alcohol bottle so he could wash out the cut of his inner thigh. He had forgotten about Lotor somewhere in the middle of Atlas's merciless kissing -- and he certainly didn't have the half angel on his mind when he decided to basically undress down to his boxers in the plain open space. It didn't really seem important at the time, anyways.

Even if Lotor had walked into the room for some reason... he probably was still too numb to care too much.

At that time, Lotor was beginning to head inside. He'd been sitting outside of the warehouse with his knees to his chest and his sketchpad on the floor in front of him. He'd taken to drawing Shiro idly, having spent enough time looking at the demon to draw his approximate facial structures with adequate accuracy. He'd just needed to do something to distract himself. He'd needed to draw something that was simple and didn't take too much energy.

Lotor had murdered someone. He'd engaged in fights and even gone far enough to murder someone. Regardless of whether or not she deserved it.

He was going to follow the traditions of his Altean heritage and cut his hair shorter. It had only just grown past his shoulders and now he was going to cut it an inch shorter. He didn't spare Shiro a second glance, not caring too much about his state of undress as he took a blade from beside the mirror and sat in front of it. He guessed where an inch was and began to saw through his hair, slicing it off. He let it fall to the floor and began cutting the rest. It felt like a sting to his reputation and his manner. Oh, how he despised having his hair sliced off regardless of whether or not he had earned it.

It settled just above his shoulder now. Longer than when the Guardian had cut it initially, but that didn't mean that he liked it any more. He turned to look at Shiro, who still had yet to get dressed and was looking at him curiously.

"Was it time for a trim?" Shiro asked, cocking his head, just nearly done with wrapping up his leg. "It looked fine the way it was. You didn't even have split ends. Why'd you cut it?"

Lotor smiled a little at the intrigue, appreciating how Shiro seemed to care.

"You are aware of how hair length defines reputation in Altean culture. I'm simply... following through. I engaged in physical conflict and committed murder so I must lose some of my hair to show that. Hopefully it will grow back sometime soon." He got to his feet, approaching Shiro. "Is there a reason why you're nearly naked in the room where I spend most of my time?"

Shiro's eyes widened, and he looked down at himself, cheeks flushing a heavy shade of red. He closed his legs quickly, reaching for the waist of his bloodied pants, forgetting all about the stupid wound on his thigh. "I-uh, I was just patching up a deep cut on my leg," he stammered, tugging up his jeans. "One of those humans nicked the inside of my leg. It's the only wound that hasn't stopped bleeding yet besides the one on my shoulder..." Shiro flicked his eyes off to the side and gave a tired little huff.

"I wasn't naked," he added on defensively, clearly missing out on Lotor's use of 'nearly'. "I have boxers on."

"Yes, you aren't naked, you're just undressed," Lotor nodded as he pushed Shiro to sit down and pulling the jeans down again. Shiro started to protest, his face almost hotter than the flames of fucking hell, but Lotor cut him off. "Sit back and let me dress your wounds. It won't work properly if you're doing it. Judging from..." he glanced at the bandages on his arms. "You should get some help with it."

He took the bandages and wrapped up Shiro's wounds. He was careful when he dressed them, smoothening down the bandages with his hand after he wrapped them and making sure he was careful not to hurt the demon any more than he had to while dressing wounds.  
"You had some of my blood earlier." The statement was direct and blunt- it wasn't a question to make sure whether or not he had. It was an invitation for Shiro to confess to drinking his blood. To tell him why he did it.

Shiro, who had been sitting rather stiffly under Lotor's nursing touches, blinked a little and turned his head to face Lotor. He'd been looking at the wall to his right -- trying hard to keep from watching Lotor's hands so close to his thighs -- but once Lotor had let out the simple little statement, Shiro found his attention focused on something a little more important than Lotor's absent touches.

"Oh, I-... I'm sorry about that," he said weakly, shrugging his shoulders and then instantly flinching at the pain the action caused his stab wound. Shiro shook his head a little, biting back an irritated grumble about humans and silver before he continued on with his apology. "I was too weak to teleport, and my injuries were way worse before. I wanted to make sure I could get you home safe and try to wrap up your wounds... so I did what I had to do. Sorry... it was kind of an asshole thing to do. Especially since you were... you know. Out of it, I guess."

"It was necessary," Lotor murmured. "That was it."

Shiro reached up a hand and combed it through his hair. It was dirty with sweat and dried blood from the fight still... but Shiro was too tired to magically clean himself and he wasn't so concerned as to walk all the way to the stream in the forest. He gave a sigh and flicked his eyes to the ground, clicking his tongue a little as he waited for Lotor to finish with his leg.

"I tried to wash off your face a little," Shiro said after a moment or so of awkward silence. "Your arms too. I left your shirt on, so I didn't wrap any injuries under there or wash off any blood. Sorry. I just figured it would be kinda weird."

Lotor just nodded, getting to his feet when the wound had been dressed properly.

"Do you have any other wounds that you need addressed?" he asked, frowning as he watched Shiro, studying him for any signs of dried blood or closed wounds. "I'll look after you if you need it. You helped me, the least I can do is return the favour." He didn't have much else to say right now. Aside from the obvious- making sure Shiro was okay, understanding what was happening while he'd been unresponsive, and a couple of topics that he didn't want to address.

Shiro shook his head despite being able to write a hearty list of injuries that he could have been treated for, and began to pull up his pants again. "I'm okay," he said softly, shaking his head. "There's just this thing on my shoulder, but I already wrapped it up. Besides, it'll all heal up in a few days during New Moon. And speaking of, we gotta figure out what we're gonna do for that, yeah? Last time was kind of a wreck, but we can come up with a better plan for this one."

Slowly, Shiro pushed himself to his feet. He brushed a hand through his dirty hair again, sighing a little before shaking his head. "But before that: I need to sleep," he said gruffly, yawning into his fist. "I don't know about you, but that fight really wore me out." He turned his eyes to the bed, and rose a heavy arm to point at it. "I'll let you sleep in the mattress. I'll just go curl up in my heater or something... sleep tight, I guess."

He turned away, waving a little, Atlas up on her feet and already following him towards the basement.

Lotor watched him and reached out, grabbing his hand.  
"Stay in here," he said, pulling him back and into the mattress. "You need rest and you need it now so just stay in here instead of wandering around. If you want the heater then I'll go get it but, please, stay." He moved to sit on the mattress, having successfully pulled Shiro down. He was too weak to resist it, anyway. No sooner than he had settled beside Shiro did Atlas join them, lying over their legs (making sure that she didn't have her weight on Shiro's wounded leg. Lotor didn't mind her joining them- it meant that Shiro couldn't insist on leaving or try to escape. It would be better for them both if he just stayed, anyway. Lotor moved closer and rested his head on Shiro's uninjured shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. His desire for closeness was overpowering his worry that Shiro would push him away. Besides... something about Shiro was comforting.

He felt safe around him.

"I... uh... guess I have no choice, huh?" Shiro asked weakly, giving a soft, dry sort of laugh.

He had tensed under Lotor's head feeling the heat of his touch and most certainly smelling the overwhelming gentleness of his scent. Shiro tried not to give into it for a moment or so, but after those few heartbeats had passed, the serenity of their closeness simply chipped away at his sheepishness. Shiro eased himself back against the old, squishy mattress, cautiously lifting an arm and holding it around Lotor's body -- gentle and careful with his touch. The sensation nearly made him shiver... which was odd because everything was so suddenly warm. Shiro, unconsciously, moved a little closer to Lotor, finding himself addicted to the rush of the angel's touch. Or half-angel. Oh, fuck, he didn't care what the hell Lotor had been anymore.

He just knew Lotor felt so nice next to him. And... and smelled so nice too...

Shiro didn't realize he was purring until Lotor lifted his head up to look at him with high brows and a playfully judging sort of stare.

He flinched, and began to push up from the bed, but Lotor's hand on his chest stopped him. Shiro sank back into the mattress, blushing up a storm, those heavy purrs rumbling about in his chest like machinery. "This is so embarrassing," he muttered, jamming his eyes shut and shaking his head. "Make it stop. Say something to piss me off. Slap me in the face or something. Fuck, I sound so stupid."

Lotor let out a soft laugh, his head slowly tipping to rest upon Shiro's shoulder again.  
"No, no, it's cute," he said softly. "I don't think it's embarrassing at all. I mean..." he leant up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I might even ask what I can do to make you purr more. Last time it was... this, right?" he moved his hand to Shiro's hair, beginning to scratch behind his ears and watching his face. Waiting for those little rumbling purrs to erupt from his throat again. "I bet that if I kept kissing you, you'd be unable to stop purring. I bet that if I gave you even a little more attention you'd be nothing but purrs."

Shiro screwed his eyes shut tight, gritting his teeth to try and stop the heavy purrs that moved through his chest and throat, but he found the attempt useless. Especially with Lotor's hand rubbing against his head and through the shaved bit of his hair. Especially after that kiss. If Lotor's overall presence wasn't so overpoweringly calming, Shiro might have just died in embarrassment at the little gesture. Maybe he would have died again from Lotor's little taunt about more kisses and more attention. Shiro pretended he didn't notice the way he leaned into Lotor's touches, his features relaxing, his eyebrows furrowing up above his gently closed eyes.

"I'm not cute," Shiro grumbled, the purrs rising up and curling around his words, muddling them a little. "Purring is a design flaw. Whoever the fuck made demons must have messed up something because this is awful..." he trailed off, curling a little closer to Lotor. "But... move your hand a little to the left? A little more? Ah... perfect..."

Lotor stifled a laugh at Shiro's reaction to the scratching. He complied without question, watching Shiro's expression flicker to one of bliss at how good the scratches felt. And Lotor couldn't lie that quite a few dirty thoughts did flicker through his mind as he watched Shiro's perfect face. He leant in, pressing another soft little kiss to Shiro's jaw and letting his lips linger in place for just long enough to hear Shiro's purrs get louder. Oh, this man would be the death of him someday with these beautiful purrs and the little ways he leant into the touches. At least he knew how to deal with Shiro if he got angry again.

 

All it would take is a few scratches in the right place and he'd be like this all over again.

"Close your eyes, Shiro. You trust me. I'll keep doing this until you fall asleep. Okay?"

"Mmhm," Shiro hummed, fluttering his eyes back down to a close. He'd been cracking them open periodically to make sure Lotor wasn't laughing at him. Of course, then there was whenever Lotor would press one of those kisses to his cheek or jaw, Shiro's eyes would snap open and his body would rack with chills. He followed Lotor's gentle commands though, moving a little closer one last time before relaxing himself completely -- leaving himself to the mercy of Lotor's hold and Lotor's hands. "If you can't sleep... because I'm too loud... just kick me..."

His words were slurred and nearly garbled beneath his purrs they had been so intense. He could barely remember a time he had purred so much... maybe there was never a time. The thought, despite its apparent dismalness, made Shiro feel even warmer on the inside. A gentle smile curled itself onto his lips, and Shiro inhaled deeply, sniffing Lotor's scent as best he could.

The smell, the touch, Lotor's gentle voice in his ears -- it all mixed to create the perfect elixir to lull him to sleep.


	20. Cravings, Cravings

When Shiro awoke, he was alone in the mattress again. Save for Atlas of course... but Lotor wasn't beside him anymore.

He could tell at first because of how cold it had been. Shiro had actually awoken because he was cold -- shivers crawled about his skin, chills darted up and down his spine. He had reached his arms out for Lotor without thinking to hold him a little closer, but his hands met cold sheets and his arms met empty space. He had pushed up from the mattress at that, fluttering his eyes open and blinking at the brightness of the room. All the dirty sheets Shiro normally had hanging over each window had been drawn back and pinned to the sills. Shiro gave a soft groan, and lifted a hand up to rub his burning eyes, his other hand reaching to pat Atlas on her dozing head.

He reached his arms up to stretch, forgetting about his shoulder wound, and nearly yelped at the sharp pain that shot throughout his back. Shiro snapped his eyes open, and reached back to hold his arm, groaning to himself again. He could feel the soft throb of each present injury pulse with each beat of his heart. Shiro, weakly, lifted a hand and whisked it about, cleaning up the crusted blood from his hair and skin in an instant. He flicked his wrist the other way, and then he was wearing a shirt and a pair of clean and slightly tighter sweatpants over his bandages. Shiro then let out a long, heavy yawn, and then fluttered his eyes open, blinking against the harsh light as he scanned the room for Lotor.

Instead... he found something else.

"What... the... fuck..." he murmured, eyes widening at the sight before him. There was a beat of numb shock before the realization began to tumble over him. Shiro instantly grit his teeth, and pushed up to a stand from the mattress. "Lotor! What did you do?"

Lotor, currently stood by the door, turned his gaze to Shiro.  
"What?" he asked, approaching him by the bed and gently coaxing him back into bed as best as he could so that he could relax. "You shouldn't be up and about. Your leg is still healing and your shoulder clearly isn't any better." In fact, Lotor was entirely oblivious to what had upset Shiro. He'd redecorated and, clearly, Shiro didn't appreciate it. The walls were now painted a nice cream colour- bland enough not to offend Shiro's delicate eyes and yet still enough of a change to make Lotor content. Not to mention that he'd cleaned up again and killed all the mold in order to do this.

But that was just the beginning. Lotor had been experimenting with his ability to change the properties of items and the dull concrete floor was now varnished wooden flooring- again, a birch kind of colour. It made the room look nicer, cleaner, and a lot larger. He liked it more than the dull grey. He definitely liked it now that there wasn't mold in every corner. He'd swapped out the grimy bedside table for a much neater ivory one with a glass cover on the top and two drawers. One held what Lotor usually used- the scissors for cutting his hair, a handheld mirror, a few other items typically for vanity and a small hilt of a blade that he used as a weapon, finding it easier to turn it into whatever he wanted than to create something out of thin air. The drawer beneath it held things for Shiro- though it was mostly just full of dog food for Atlas now. Speaking of Atlas, there were now two food bowls in each corner. One set of bowls was for Atlas and one for Feathers. The mirror was hung on the wall and the windows now had curtains. Hell, Lotor had even put in a new light and given it a lampshade. He'd even put in a fucking desk for himself on the other side of the bed, with a seat and his sketchpad set out on top.

"Is everything alright?" he asked Shiro worriedly, noting his little freakout.

Shiro let himself get eased back down onto the mattress, but his eyes were wide and his teeth were still gritted tight. "You changed everything!" he said, voice pitched with the wailing cry of a pouty child. "I... the walls. It's so... domestic! It's so clean. Why... how did you do all of this? How long was I asleep? Where did you even get any of this?"

Shiro's questions were loud and a little frantic, but, despite his heated opinion, Shiro let himself lean a little closer to Lotor with each angry ramble. He was just about pressed up against him at Shiro's final question, body aching for more of that warmth from the night before. His senses aching for more of that scent. Shiro didn't notice of course... or maybe he pretended not to notice, but his blatant affection was obvious. Even as he shook his head and flicked his tail and grit his teeth.

"I... ugh... I mean... I guess since you're staying here it's okay but..." Shiro trailed off, looking around. "Don't do this anywhere else. A demon needs his filth man. I chose this place because it was dark and dank..."

"Why?" Lotor asked softly. "What's the point in living somewhere dark and miserable? You can charge from the moonlight better somewhere like here. It doesn't do anything to let yourself have a couple of luxuries, Shiro," he said softly as he ran his fingers through Shiro's hair, eyes fluttering closed. "Besides, I... I needed to do something to occupy myself. After yesterday my thoughts have been hell so I... I wanted to focus on something else." He noticed Shiro drifting closer and moved one hand to begin scratching that spot again.

After all, Shiro was so much easier to talk to and deal with when he was a pretty purring mess.  
"I know I should have asked for permission but I really wanted to do something. I was just growing tired of living in filth."

Shiro gave a soft sigh, flicking his eyes off to the side. He tried to ignore the hand on the his head, combing through his hair and spreading trickles of warmth down the skin of his back. "I'm a demon," he mumbled, scooching a little closer. "Living someplace miserable is in the description. But... but if it really makes you feel better, then it's fine, I guess. Just leave the Barbie makeover in this room, please."

He pressed back into Lotor's hand, tipping his head to the side. "If you're trying to pet me to keep me from getting mad, it's not working," he mumbled, a soft rumble just beginning to kickstart in his chest. Lotor's hand moved up Shiro's head, brushing through his hair all the way to the crown of his skull. Shiro shivered at the feeling, slumping over and leaning on Lotor completely. "Mm. Maybe it's kind of working. But still... this feels like you're taking advantage of me... not that I'm complaining."

"Okay, well, if you can make up your mind about whether or not it's bad, I'll stop." He smiled a little, moving to that little spot from yesterday and starting to scratch, watching for Shiro to begin purring louder. "But until then I'll just need to keep petting you."

Shiro smiled a little in response, but he stayed quiet, letting his eyes fall to a delicate close as he shuffled closer to Lotor in the bed, happy to be warm again. He could have forgiven Lotor for the new decor if that had been the apology -- lying there with Shiro in that gross old mattress and running his hands through Shiro's 'ugly' or 'barbonic' hair. He was being selfish, of course, laying so close and on top of Lotor like that, making him stay with him. But... demons were supposed to be selfish. Shiro had the right. Even if there had been a twinge of guilt somewhere deep in his system at the thought of how uncomfortable and musty the mattress was that they laid upon. Maybe Lotor would replace it too... even if shiro didn't like the idea of giving up something he had already scented and grown accustomed to.

A long, comfortable silence passed over them, the white noise being Shiro's gentle purrs and the occasional snoring sigh from Atlas. In that silence, Shiro had time to think, his head working hard beneath Lotor's addicting touches. The thoughts spun themselves into a neat web -- moving outward like the ripples in water. The topic he mulled over went from him being a selfish demon... to Lotor being an angel... to Lotor being a sort-of-angel... to Lotor killing Honerva... to Honerva herself... and then...

And then to what Honerva had said.

"Lotor," Shiro said suddenly, interrupting the silence. He had stopped purring -- even if Lotor still played with his hair and tickled his neck. They had left them around the time Shiro began to think about Honerva, the inner turmoil overcoming the comfort of Lotor's hands. "Can I talk to you about something? Something about...something about Honerva?"

Pulling his hand back now that he was no longer drawing out those sweet purrs, Lotor turned his gaze to fix on Shiro.  
"Yeah," he said softly. "Yes, of course. I don't know how well I'll be able to help but, please, feel free."

Shiro swallowed hard, and then he nodded a little, trying to think about how he would word those thoughts hanging heavily in his head. "Do you remember what she called me? Before the fight?" he asked gently, brow furrowing. "Takashi. I... I don't know what it is. Or what it means... she said it was my name but I don't trust her. She said... something about trying to take it away when I was alive? Do you think she knew me? Or... or was she just lying to get under my skin?"

 

"The witch is a lot of things," he began, a sigh passing through his lips. "But I don't remember her being that much of a liar. She's done terrible things, there's no doubt about it, but that wasn't a lie. I think that that was actually your name; Takashi. And she has lived for at least three thousand years, Shiro, I don't doubt that she knew you at one point in time or another. Does it unsettle you to know that she could know more about your human life than you do?" He didn't like seeing Shiro so unnerved and irritated. He didn't like to see Shiro tensed up and conflicted. Not his carefree, reckless Shiro. That's not something that he'd do.

In fact, the idea of any demon overthinking was laughable but they didn't have anything to overthink about. Finding out your name when it might not actually your name... it's a pivotal moment. Shiro only really knew himself as Shiro, a nickname, so it wasn't surprisingly that finding out his first name was a little unsettling. In his situation, Lotor wasn't sure how he'd react.

"Well," he said softly, brow furrowing. "I guess that's one way to learn your name... then where did 'Shiro' come from? And why does... did. Why did she call me Champion all those times?" Shiro restrained a shudder at the title, the name still stirring some sort of discomfort somewhere deep in his system.

He pushed up from the bed to sit straight, away from Lotor. Shiro brought his hands to the opposite arms, and hugged himself a little, drawing up his knees to his chest. He gave a humorless huff of laughter, and shook his head a little. "As sucky as your life was, you're lucky to remember it," he muttered, hanging his head. "There's nothing worse than not knowing. Not knowing what I did to get like... this..." He waved a hand to gesture himself, tail flicking behind him. "It almost drives you crazy. And Honerva giving me fucking hints doesn't help... I almost want to go visit her on whatever level of Hell she's on and ask her what she meant. But... she's not worth a trip to Hell..."

"Is it that bad?" Lotor asked as he got to his feet. "Hell is that bad, even for a demon? It's your home. Though... I suppose I should have realised there was a reason you lived here instead of down there. I just assumed that you liked being around humans in case one became vulnerable enough for you to exploit." He moved a little closer to Shiro, not liking how he'd tried to wriggle away. "There are plenty of other people who would know about you. I'm sure we can find someone else."

He even knew who he could ask but... he didn't wish to see her again. She'd remain nothing but a last resort even if it was a little selfish for him to prioritise his own bias over Shiro knowing who he was, what he did, everything like that.

He just couldn't bear to see her again.

Shiro gave an uncomfortable laugh, shaking his head a little. "I mean, I guess it's my home," he mumbled, swallowing hard as he thought about it. "But it's... not a nice home. Especially with Sendak... some demons like the burning and the screaming and even the occasional torture, but I don't. At least I don't like my level of Hell. I'm sure it's better higher up... which is where I'll be once I reach my quota with Sendak." He gave a smirk, tipping his head up. "One thousand souls, and I'm free, baby. I'd say roughly a hundred years? If of course I... I don't cash you in..."

He trailed off at the thought, his discomfort of Hell morphing into the discomfort of another kind. "We've got to talk about that," he said, turning to look at Lotor over his shoulder. "What I'm gonna do with you...? Your soul is mine but I'm not gonna be sending you to Hell to get tortured anytime soon. Sendak is gonna be pissed at me, but... you shouldn't have to..." He lost his words again, trying to scrape together something right to say but nothing that would taint his dignity. "Taking your soul was a mistake. I'm not sending you downstairs for a long while, angel face. And that means... I'm gonna have to get back to work collecting souls." Shiro turned around to look at his hands, frowning a little. "Is that alright by you?"

Lotor seemed shocked by the words, at least, his eyes wide and his gaze fixed on Shiro.  
"Why?" he just couldn't understand why Shiro would have him rejected from his home for the deal and then just not cash it in. Surely he was valuable? Shiro could move up several levels in exchange for just this one soul so why not accept it? "I'm hardly any different to the humans you send to hell. The only difference is that you've gotten to know me. I'm sure that if the Guardian saw it fit to reject me from heaven it's because I don't deserve to be there. I'm going to end up resigning myself to hell eventually, when this place grows tiring, so you shouldn't draw it out. The last thing we need is to grow any more attached to each other. I doubt that I'd last ten minutes in hell with such valuable blood running through my veins."

The last thing we need is to grow any more attached to each other. Shiro felt his teeth grit hard behind his lips at the statement. In pain? In anger? In regret? Ah, yes. It had to be regret. Perhaps he had already been too far attached to go back any further. Shiro was astounded at the fact he didn't want to send Lotor to Hell itself, of course, but he knew he wouldn't be able to do it. He'd known for a while, actually.

Shiro just wished he knew why.

Lotor turned his gaze to the floor.

"How cruel the angels are. They promise you safety and love but give you blood that demons would massacre their closest companions for. They poison your veins with all kinds of toxins that influence your abilities, your moods, your mindset and your safety if ever in the presence of a demon. With all the stories we're told, I was surprised that you didn't go straight for my throat when we met but, again, I refuse to assume anything about someone because of their race. You being a demon didn't make you a ruthless monster so I didn't feel the need to defend myself or threaten you."

And yet Shiro ended up doing something far worse than draining you of all your blood.

But that was something that he'd offered to Shiro. He could try and make Shiro a villain but he had offered his soul and who would say no? He frequently had to remind himself not to blame or attack Shiro for it.

Shiro frowned, shaking his head a little. "I didn't go after you because I was afraid of you," he admitted quietly, looking down to his feet. "I was the roach and you were the exterminator. Of course I would have fought you back tooth and nail with a cocky grin on my face, but if we're being ruthlessly honest here, deep down, you scared the shit out of me."

He gave a deep sigh and a shrug. "You angels have rumors about demons, us demons have rumors about angels," Shiro murmured. "Ruthless. Emotionless. Heaven's soldiers, equipped with silver blades and wings and magic that could flick a demon off the face of the Earth like a bug off the kitchen table. I bared my teeth and stuff but I knew if I fought you before New Moon, you'd kill me. That's why I was so scared that time you came in here and threatened me. If you weren't an angel, I would have been sarcastic and mean until you cut off my head."

Shiro looked at him over his shoulder, his eyebrows drawn up high on his head. "But, wait, let's backtrack for a second. Did you say you want me to send you to Hell?" he asked, turning around to look at Lotor straight on. "Why would you say something like that? An eternity being bored isn't worse an eternity of torture. Do you really think they'd just kill you? Yeah, they'd take your blood, but they'd take it slowly. They'd never really drain you..." Shiro trailed off, looking Lotor up and down, already imagining the torture Hell had in store for him. They'd pluck each of his feathers one by one. They'd carve those holy marks from his skin. They'd rip his hair from his skull and pull his teeth and his nails... and then they'd snap their fingers, and he'd be back to normal. A fresh canvas. Shiro shook his head, trying to lose those images from his mind.

"Mm-mn. I'm not gonna do it," he muttered. "Not unless you really manage to piss me off. Take it from someone who has been through it: you don't wanna go down there. And you're not going to. We'll figure something else out."

"Then what if someone comes and collects me? Someone like Sendak? Someone who you know and you're inferior to because you have souls you're promising them but have no intent of cashing in?" He let out a sigh, leaning against the wall. "I understand the strain but... I'm going to be handed over eventually. Part of me says just to get it over with, turn myself in, get used to the torment sooner rather than later."

Lotor ran his fingers through his hair, beginning to pace. "I'd take an eternity of boredom over an eternity of torture, of course I would, but what if I don't get that choice?" He could imagine it- he could recall Sendak's face so vividly and it would be so perfectly in-character for him to appear out of nowhere to ruin Lotor's life yet again- put him through torment and abuse far worse than he did when they'd been alive. If he was going to be brought there eventually, he had two options- make the most of the rest of his time on Earth or hand himself in so he wouldn't have anything to miss or mourn. Sure, neither were really pleasant options when he considered what was waiting for him on the other end but... he couldn't really oppose it.

Shiro watched him, bitter that he had gotten up from the bed and had taken his warmth with him, but thoughtful in regards to what Lotor had been saying. "Well, I'll do my best to try and give you a choice, I guess," Shiro said, shrugging gently. He eased forwards a bit, looking up to Lotor pace about in front of him. "If you can last on Earth another hundred or so years, which should be a piece of cake, I'll be on a high enough level to just... not have to turn in your soul to Sendak. You'd still be mine, of course, but I wouldn't be working for him... so I wouldn't ever have to give you to him! You could just live with me in my cozy little spot in Hell. Maybe help me run things..." Shiro trailed off, thinking about it, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He flicked his head up, nothing the way Lotor had stopped his pacing to stare. An instant blush crossed Shiro's face, and he lost the smile, turning his eyes down to the floor. "But... uh... I could also try and make it so you stay up here," he said, shaking his head. "You don't have to stay with me. Especially not for eternity... I'm sure you wouldn't want to."

"Why not?" Lotor didn't really see a problem with it. Shiro was far kinder and definitely more trustworthy than the angels he had been with and Shiro was, truly, the only person on his side. He trusted him and he definitely enjoyed his company so was there any actual harm in staying? In trusting him just this once? "I'm sure I can last a century and live with you. It... wouldn't be the worst fate to be condemned to. Perhaps I might even be nice enough to let you drink my blood without forcing me to drain myself of it?" He leant down to sweep up Feathers, who was now about the size of his wrist to his elbow, and brought the kitten close to his chest before moving to join Shiro on the bed.

 

"Tell me," he said softly. "What would the harm be in at least trying your plan?"

You could get tired of me. You could see a side of me you won't want to see. That I won't want you to see.

Shiro smiled, ignoring the inner comment, and cocking his head a little. "I don't see any harm at all," he said, looking to Lotor with a soft pair of eyes. "I could get used to the perks of angel blood and head scratches for all of eternity. And I'm sure you could get used to all of this, hm?" Shiro gestured to himself, smirking goofily at him.

He leaned a little closer, bumping their shoulders together. "Did we just beat the system, angel face?" he asked, eyes sparkling.

"Perhaps," Lotor said, petting the top of Feathers' head and listening to her content little purrs, his heart light in his chest. "I think that we did, yes. But, tell me, did you ever actually plan on turning me in? You never quite seemed keen to trade my soul. I expected you to do something like that immediately but instead you decided to bring me here and be nice- it was all a very unusual experience, though it was far from unwelcome. Although, honestly, the thought that you were intimidated by me was also entirely unexpected."

He turned his gaze to Shiro and Atlas, who was now growing closer to the pair upon seeing that Feathers was getting attention while she severely lacked it. Her head butted against Shiro's hand and face, letting out devastated little whines as if she'd been kicked.

"Are angels really described like that? I expected to hear that they were dainty little creatures designed to be fed upon but there must be a desire for some form of balance between angels and demons if we're taught to live in fear of each other."

Shiro looked at him a moment, mapping out his answer in his head. He petted Atlas, rubbing behind her ears as he thought. "Well, first off, yes. At first I was totally into giving your soul up to save my ass from Sendak," he said simply, shrugging his shoulders a little. "Sorry. You were kind of my ticket to a better life. But then... somewhere along the way I changed my mind. Don't ask me why because I don't know. You just... grow on people I guess. Or demons. You know what I'm saying."

He turned back around to face Atlas completely, pressing his head forward into hers, both hands rubbing on her neck. "And yes. Demons are told that angels are pretentious douchebags with the power of God in the palms of their hands," he explained before pressing a kiss on Atlas's nose. The pitch of his words then dropped considerably so, becoming gooey and slurred with the tone of one speaking to a baby. "Isn't that what they told us? Isn't it Atlas? Yeah. Yeah that's what they told us."

Shiro leaned up away from Atlas to look at Lotor. "But that didn't mean I wasn't ready to fight you," Shiro affirmed. "There were times I was dead set on killing you. You really pissed me off." He shook his head a little, thinking about it. "To be fair, you didn't really have the best manners. I'm no saint myself, but that comes in the job description. You were just... kinda reckless."

"I did try to be polite with you but you'd frequently push me past my limits. There's a striking difference between being polite and being complacent with dehumanisation. I wasn't going to allow anyone, not even a demon, to be cruel to me." Lotor reached up to pet Atlas with one hand, running his fingers through her fur. She was so soft and oh so sappy- it was adorable. There was quite a resemblance between her and Shiro if you ignored the distinct lack of purring.

She took a few trudging steps closer before slumping down on top of the two of them, pinning them both down where they were and trying to get more pets at the same time. Lotor happily supplied, Feathers meowing and hissing at the hound invading her space when she'd been just about to settle down exactly where Atlas now lay.

"Mm. I've been told I have a tendency to do that," Shiro hummed, offering Lotor a wink and a smirk. He continued to scratch Atlas behind the ears, rolling his eyes at the slobber she got all over his lap from her lolling tongue. "Pushing people past their limits is one of the best qualities of a demon, I have to say."

They continued to sit there for a moment or so, simply petting Atlas in comfortable silence — shoulders still touching, the connection still buzzing. Shiro, every now and again, would turn his gaze to Lotor, but avert it before the half-angel could even notice. His smell was heavy, nearly drawing Shiro closer with its enthralling quality. He tried to ignore it, though, simply turning his head and trying to find himself a distraction.

"How are you feeling?" he blurted after a moment or so. "Your wounds? And your bandages? How are you doing, Lotor?"

Lotor's attention turned to Shiro, a small smile curled onto his lips.

"You're feeling far more friendly than usual." He reached up to flick some strands of hair from Shiro's face. "But yes, I am feeling better now. My wounds are less sore, the bandages are freshly changed- I redid them this morning before you woke up- and I'm feeling much better now that the room is less dreary." He moved slightly closer, sighing. "How about you, Shiro? Your wounds and bandages? I hope you're feeling better too... I'd offer you some blood to help but I can't risk letting you get addicted again." He sighed a little and leant back, Feathers currently swiping at Atlas and still hissing in an attempt to get the dog to move. It wouldn't work.

Shiro gave a soft shrug. "I'm fine," he assured, looking down at himself. His shoulder still stung a bit when he would move his arm, and the slash on his thigh made it a bit painful to stand he was sure, but everything other than that the quickly approaching magic of the New Moon healed. "My magic is getting stronger every day -- New Moon is real close. I'll be completely healed up in another day or so."

He looked down to his hands, studying the crude wrappings about his knuckles for a moment. "I'm feeling okay after taking some of your blood though... so that's a good sign, I guess," he said, leaning back up and looking to Lotor. "It was a stressful situation anyways. And I'm powerful enough to ignore it, but not so powerful I can't help but go after it, you know? We got lucky... heading over to the church before New Moon was a good idea, Lotor. I was feral enough as it was." Shiro gave a soft laugh, and shook his head a little.

"But wait, what do you mean 'far more friendly'?" he asked teasingly, narrowing his eyes and leaning forward. "Are you saying I'm not always this dashing and charming?"

Lotor caught onto the tone, a small smile curling onto his lips.  
"I'd never even insinuate that you haven't always been this sweet, Shiro, but you rarely ask me four questions at a time to make sure that I'm okay. And... a more important question, are you experiencing any withdrawal symptoms from not drinking my blood in almost twelve hours? You had a lot to drink yesterday, if my memory serves, and I don't want to run the risk of another incident where you're addicted but refuse to admit to doing anything." He reached up, cupping Shiro's cheek to force the demon to look at him.

"So look me in the eyes and tell me honestly: are you worried that you might get an addiction again and are you feeling any cravings?"

Shiro looked at him, thinking about it. He sniffed the air, leaning a little closer to Lotor, and noticed the hint of an achingly familiar scent somewhere inside Lotor's calming aura. The smell that had taunted him for what seemed like endless hours of endless nights -- back before he'd admitted to Lotor how addicting the angel's blood had been. He blinked a little, and swallowed hard, realizing the strange straggling scent didn't leave him as he leaned away. Shiro bit the inside of his cheek, and flicked his eyes to the floor.

"You do smell really good right now," he mumbled. "And not like... not like usual. Usually you smell like this one thing I can't really describe, but right now you're a little... appetizing, almost." 

Shiro gave a deep sigh, drawing his shoulders up a little higher, his lips curled into a soft frown. "Fuck. You shouldn't have said anything," he muttered nervously, reaching his hand up to rub the back of his head. He turned his eyes from Lotor, and instead focused on Atlas, his absent petting now tense and strained as he tried to obscure his focus. "I wasn't thinking about it... now I am... ugh..."

Studying Shiro, Lotor nodded a little.  
"Do you need to drink?" he asked, noticing the tension and the anxiousness and he could almost sense the bloodlust lingering on Shiro. "I can give you a drink if you so desire, Shiro. It's the least I can do with everything you've done for me." His lip settled between his teeth and he began working it between sharp canines, keeping his worried gaze fixed on Shiro. He was worried about anything going wrong with him. Perhaps he shouldn't have brought it up? It wasn't the smartest idea that he'd had.

 

It satisfied his curiosity, though, as much as he hated to admit it. All he had to do was hope that Shiro wasn't desperate enough to kill and, if not, that he still had the strength to fight him off. He was sure Atlas would be on his side, anyway. The hound had protected and helped him so many times when Shiro was a genuine threat that he doubted the sappy monster was actually capable of any kind of malice. Even as Feathers meowed and hissed and swiped at Atlas with her short and stubby claws did she remain docile and harmless. It was admirable- a trait that he hadn't expected to see reflected in a beast from hell. Shiro had similar self-restraint but much much less patience.

Shiro shook his head, pushing Atlas from his lap with a great amount of effort, and then scooting away -- further down the mattress. "I don't... I don't think that would be a good idea," he said quietly, head tipped down and wide eyes watching his feet. "There's too much that could go wrong. We should just stick to the regular doses. I can handle it."

Could he? The question seemed a bit bleak, if he was being entirely honest with himself. Ever since he had caught a whiff of Lotor's blood, the rest of his addictive symptoms began to roll back into his system with a displeasing sort of familiarity. His mouth nearly watered at the remembrance of the taste on his tongue just one night ago -- the spill of Lotor's blood upon his taste buds, the power of his flushing throughout his own veins. Shiro suppressed a shudder, and tried to keep his mouth from watering at the thoughts, shaking his head a little.

"I should... I should probably go," Shiro said softly, rubbing his opposite arm. "But thank you, Lotor. For offering, I guess."

Lotor's eyes had fixed on Shiro, studying him, surveying every little change in his movement or the way his eyes flitted from each little thing that caught his attention. He reached up, cupping his cheek.  
"Are you sure?" he asked softly, worry clear in his eyes as he locked his gaze with Shiro's. He could see the speckles of shining lavender in his grey eyes. The concern and the worry were so clear in Shiro's eyes. "If you're experiencing symptoms and doubt that you'll be able to keep yourself in check then you need to tell me- especially with the New Moon so close. It'll be extremely risky for us both and you might accidentally kill me if you don't continue to get controlled amounts of blood in the buildup to this power surge." He was clearly concerned about Shiro, sinking his teeth down into his lower lip yet again. A little too much pressure in a spot he'd bitten before and the skin split, a soft pearl of iridescent blood beginning to well up around his teeth.

Shiro's eyes widened at the contact of Lotor's warm hand on his face alone, but the moments Lotor's lip had split, Shiro felt his system jolt in shock at the sight and smell of Lotor's blood. The second the scent reached him, Shiro lost his train of proper thought. He nearly leapt forwards, not even giving Lotor the chance to protest, not giving himself a chance to hold back -- and before he knew it, his lips were crashing down upon Lotor's. He pressed his lips against Lotor's bottom one, his tongue pushing through his mouth and setting down upon the slight gash that split itself between Lotor's chapped skin. The blood met Shiro's taste buds with an accompanying rush of adrenaline, and Shiro pressed his hungry sort of kiss down harder upon Lotor, one of his hands reaching up to grasp the slack of Lotor's shirt, gripping it tight between his balled fist.

He had licked Lotor completely clean of the blood, the metallic, delectable substance spread across his tongue and the roof of his mouth, before Shiro's proper thought clicked back into its place. His eyes had snapped open, his whole system seizing in shock. He wrenched backwards, both hands flying to his own mouth as he scooted backwards, eyes wider than plates, face paler than parchment. Warm, sticky blood was smeared about his own lips, cooling against his skin, buzzing and tickling. Shiro tried to wipe it away, shaking his head fast. He stood, pushing away from the mattress and turning his back on Lotor -- desperate to see anything but the angel's reaction.

"Lotor... shit..." he muttered breathlessly, still shaking his head. "I'm so sorry. Fuck. Fuck. I didn't mean to. I just sm-...I just smelled it and-"

Lotor reached up, grabbing ahold of Shiro's shoulder to pull him back and bringing their lips together. Something about Shiro's lips was just addictive. Something about the closeness and the sweetness and just how he definitely wasn't supposed to crave Shiro the way that he did. He had their lips together in a heartbeat, bringing their lips together and keeping a tight hold to prevent Shiro from breaking away. One hand moved into his hair and his hold tightened on Shiro, his teeth sinking into his own lips again to draw more blood to tempt him, to draw him in. It was successful- in a second, the tension had flooded from Shiro's body as the taste began to infiltrate his lips.

Shiro's wide eyes fluttered to a gentle close, and he eased forwards into Lotor's kiss, the smell and taste of Lotor's blood once again taking a firm hold of him once again. The tingling sensation settled itself upon Shiro's lips and tongue, and Shiro opened up his mouth for more, kissing him harder, both hands traveling up to Lotor's chest and gripping the already wrinkled slack of Lotor's shirt. Waves of buzzing tingles moved across Shiro's face from the contact of their lips, the feelings traveling all the way down his body, inspiring the chilling crawl of gooseflesh to rise about his back and his arms. It was an electric feeling, Lotor so close to him in such a way. An electric feeling Shiro began to crave more of.

He pushed forwards, easing Lotor back against the mattress with his hold upon Lotor's chest. One of his hands trailed up to hold Lotor's face, cupping his cheek in his palm, curling loose strands of that white hair about his index finger as he pushed his tongue further into Lotor's mouth. The hunger for blood easily morphed its way into a hunger for something else once the new drops had been licked clean from Lotor's lips. Shiro kissed him hard and he kissed him desperately, barely pausing to breathe as he explored Lotor's mouth -- touching upon those little canines of his with a spiked sort of curiosity and excitement.

A few moments of heavy kissing had passed, moments of Shiro leaning over Lotor's splayed form atop of that grimy old mattress and kissing him until they both saw colors, before Shiro pulled back. A thin strand of spittle connected them for a moment or so, their breaths heavy and ragged as they watched each other, both pairs of eyes each glazed over. Shiro swallowed hard, and licked his lips, tasting Lotor's blood and Lotor's saliva once he drew his tongue back into his mouth. Oh, how such a taste intoxicated him.

Why did this take so long?

"Lotor," Shiro panted for no reason other than to taste Lotor's name on his lips. The half angel's smell wafted up to him, wrapping him up, encasing him in a feeling of both endearing peace and aggressive want -- the two emotions contrasting considerably so. "What... what are we doing?"

Lotor's hands wandered back up to cup Shiro's cheeks, looking lovingly into his eyes.  
"What the fuck we want," he murmured, one hand moving to grab Shiro's collar and pulling him down for another addictive kiss. His hands were now starting to work at removing Shiro's clothes, barely hesitating. He wanted it. He'd always wanted it but it was just now that he was realising this. It was only now that he was courageous enough, caught up in the moment enough to let himself indulge in these filthy desires.

He broke the kiss to pull of Shiro's shirt, immediately reconnecting them to part his lips and allow Shiro's tongue into his mouth again. His hands began to wander, that little buzz following each of his fingertips as they traced muscles and scars, memorising each little bump and every toned muscle that Shiro had. Oh, how perfect it felt. How perfect Shiro felt. He would run his fingers along his chest slowly, trailing them down near the hem of his pants. He'd linger there for just a moment, tantalising, teasing, before his fingertips would wander up again and run over a whole new array of gorgeous muscle and little slashes. He didn't care about the fact that he was an angel who was about to have sex with a demon. He didn't even care that he was breaking every rule in the book by doing this.

He didn't care that any chances of returning to heaven would be wiped out immediately if he were caught doing this. All that he could think of, the only thing on his damn mind, was how good it would fucking feel to have Shiro inside him. To feel Shiro's lips on his body. To have that rush of adrenaline and the overwhelming euphoria that the pleasure was laced with- he'd only had one experience with sex since he'd become an angel and that was when Shiro had used his mouth a matter of months ago. He'd been craving more since then.

It was, honestly, only a matter of time before this happened. Lotor could kick himself for waiting this long when each little brush of contact and every kiss felt like it lit him on fire. A new wave of heat would flood him whenever Shiro kissed him, whenever Shiro's tentative touch- like he still wasn't sure what to do- would settle on his waist or his fingers would brush through his hair. Each little thing would drive him insane.

Shiro tried to take it easy but it was all beginning to pile up into too much. Lotor's needy control over the situation. Lotor's hands moving up and down his body like that, positively melting Shiro's touch starved form with their contact. Lotor's lips against his. The aftertaste of Lotor's blood -- the feeling the substance left behind in his system. Shiro could feel himself lose trace after trace of his nerves and his surprise as the instinct of lust and selfishness sank into him, soaking into his mind and his body as he eased his hands up Lotor's shirt, rolling it up his body as he kissed the angel into the mattress.

Lotor's body felt warmer beneath Shiro's clawed fingertips. Warm and delicate. Shiro moved gently to keep from scratching him, but he moved quickly, following Lotor's lead in breaking the kiss a moment to pull Lotor's shirt from his head and discard it off somewhere to the left. Both Atlas and Feathers had left the room -- though Shiro was sure it was because Atlas sensed exactly what was happening and decided it would be best to leave the two alone for a bit. Shiro barely even noticed, however, as he sank down to his knees, straddling Lotor's body, half on the squat little mattress and half off of it.

He sat up straight, placing his hand at the dip of Lotor's collarbone and tracing his claws ever so delicately down Lotor's heaving chest to the sensitive flesh of Lotor's stomach and then to the contours of Lotor's hip bone and waistline. The skin was so perfect -- clean and fresh and soft. The gentle sculpture of muscles about Lotor's abdomen and pectorals, the slight yet enticing curvature of Lotor's bone structure, the rich, healthy looking skin that glowed comfortably from his radiant form... it was all so... perfect. The only thing that disrupted Lotor's perfection was the dark strands that spiderwebbed down from Shiro's hot chains plunged deep into Lotor's chest.

Of course it was his own presence that disrupted Lotor's form of purity and comfort. Shiro closed his eyes tight for a moment, uttered out a sound that he wanted to reflect a growl but ended up being a breathy sort of groan, and then pushed down into another kiss to try and force the thoughts of self loathing from his mind. It wasn't the time to hate himself... no. It was the time to make the best fucking love to Lotor.

His hands wandered Lotor's form still, becoming familiar with it. One traced the soft contours of his chest while the other roamed lower, daring to slip between the hem of Lotor's pants and the hot skin of Lotor's lower stomach. He kissed Lotor intermittently, hungry and desperate each time he'd press their lips together. Breathy words escaped him every time he'd pull back, eyes closed and fluttering delicately as he basked in the pleasure of kissing and touching such a creature in such a manner.

"Your body... it's perfect..." Shiro said between kisses. "Your skin... is so... so smooth... beautiful..."

 

Lotor didn't argue with the compliments but he dragged out each kiss longer and longer to try and ensure that Shiro wouldn't say as much. He ran his fingers through his hair, kissing and biting slowly along his neck as he ran his hands through Shiro's soft hair and the buzz of the undercut, giving a few sharp tugs on occasion.  
"More," he breathe on occasion, bringing Shiro closer with each chance he could. He was already hard, which wasn't surprising for someone who'd never really been touched like this before. "Come on, Shiro, more, please," he continued as he pulled him in for another kiss, finally sliding his hands down low enough to start tugging Shiro's pants down.

Their intimacy was always to rare and fleeting and oh, how desperately he'd craved Shiro's lips and Shiro's touch and the warmth Shiro made him feel. "More," he demanded again when Shiro didn't fulfill his desires soon enough. "I want you now."

Shiro gave a huffy sort of laugh into Lotor's lips, and leaned back from their kiss, following Lotor's hands to the waistline of his own pants. "Well you're eager, aren't you?" he cracked, breathless despite his teasing. Shiro earned a stern sort of stare from the half angel beneath him, and gave a soft chuckle before sinking down so his lips met Lotor's neck. As he kissed the sensitive flesh of Lotor's throat, Shiro untied the string to his sweatpants and slid them off of his hips, his hands clumsy with all his focus directed to the spot of red accumulating just below his lips upon Lotor's skin. The gentle nipping and sucking drew panted whines from the squirming creature beneath him, the sounds just driving him further, dragging more rough kisses down to the base of Lotor's throat once he was done with the first.

Once he had kicked his sweatpants from his ankles, Shiro moved to Lotor's, delicate fingers unbuttoning and unzippering and then looping themselves around the hem of his waistline. Shiro moved his kisses down Lotor's body as he drew the jeans down his thighs, arching his back so he could kiss all the way down to Lotor's abdomen. Such an action angered the wound on his shoulder, but Shiro's head was too light to care. All he could find important was drawing more of those sounds from Lotor's pretty lips.

It worked. Almost flawlessly, he might add, because Lotor was already drawling out more pretty little groans and moans of pleasure by the time Shiro's lips got to his abdomen. He couldn't help himself... deprivation was such a cruel punishment, especially if you don't know what you're missing out on. His breathing was tremulous and shallow and his back arched into the brushes of Shiro's lips that he so desperately craved. He didn't care for this teasing. He didn't like how Shiro chose to drag out something like kissing and he despised how it drove him wild. He wanted more of it. He wanted as much of it as he could get.

Shiro had to lean away from Lotor to get he jeans completely off, but the second he had tossed them to the floor, he was back on him, kissing his neck again and running his coarse fingers and claws about the smooth, soft skin of Lotor's torso. It was as if he couldn't last but just one second without touching him, without the beautiful feeling of Lotor beneath his fingertips. One of his hands drifted up to Lotor's face, running along Lotor's cheek and then up into Lotor's hair, brushing through the slightly tangled but incredibly soft locks. Shiro was almost startled at how nice his hair felt tangled about his fingers, pausing his rough kiss on Lotor's throat to lift his head up and look.

"Do all angels feel so nice?" he asked. Heavy purrs were rumbling in his chest, curled around his words as he spoke so alluringly to Lotor.

"I wouldn't know," Lotor murmured, pressing up toward the touches. "You tell me."

Shiro eased forwards and pressed a kiss to along Lotor's jaw, positioning his body so he properly straddled him, their hips aligned. He pressed their bodies together, the buzz of their contact flushing about his muscles and his scars -- easing them of their burning pain for a moment or two, the feeling just about driving Shiro mad for more. Shiro stopped himself from moving anymore, however, refraining from rolling his hips or grasping Lotor tight or biting down on his neck or anything else his body urged him to do. He leaned up a little, breath shaky as he peered down at the flushed half-angel before him.

"You're a hundred percent sure you want to do this?" Shiro asked gently, swallowing hard. "If I start now, I don't really think I could stop. I need you to tell me you're sure."

"I'm sure," he said quickly, breathlessly, pulling Shiro down to bring their lips together again. "I'm definitely sure. I want you. I crave you-" he cupped his cheeks and pulled him close for another kiss as he tugged at his hair.

He wasn't sure what made him so desperate. Perhaps the longing for another person and the deprivation for so long just began to drive him wild- he couldn't help himself. All he knew was that he desperately wanted Shiro and he'd been craving him incessantly for... God knows how long, not to blaspheme.

Shiro smirked against Lotor's lips, fluttering his eyes to a gentle close as he pressed forward into another kiss, the hand in Lotor's hair balling to a tighter fist, and the other that had been on Lotor's chest sliding down to Lotor's hip. "Mm, alright then," Shiro hummed between kisses before dragging his lips back down to the hickey he had been working on earlier. "You crave me? I like that... especially when you say it out loud~"

He began to move his hips a bit, stirring friction. Lotor's reaction was priceless -- the sounds, the gestures, the tightening of his grip on Shiro's body. Shiro groaned quietly into Lotor's throat, stifling his own sounds in the skin of the half-angel's neck as he kissed it, adding to Lotor's growing collection of hickeys. The friction had already been getting to Shiro somehow, whether it was the buzz of Lotor or Lotor's whining of his name, he could already feel the corkscrew of tension twist its way tighter and tighter into Shiro's lower gut. He held his ground the best he could, however, for the sake to tearing Lotor apart.

It was the angel's first time in what had to be millenia. Shiro was going to try and make it last as long as he could with the Lotor's sensitivity. He'd tease if he had to. He'd deny himself if he had to. But it was what Lotor deserved he supposed.

It was a matter of moments before he let out a breathy plead for Shiro to give him more. The lips on his neck and the biting, the nipping, the little sucking to his skin was enough to drive him wild already but he wanted more. He wanted to see stars. He wanted Shiro to let out all kinds of ungodly desires, to turn him down the path of sin. He would have no regrets if this was how he did it.

Any demon in Shiro's position would be lucky, able to have an angel so willing to submit to their desires.

'Perhaps, though,' he thought as he looked up at the handsome face above him. 'Any angel would be luckier.'

"Don't be merciful," he told to Shiro after a few moments. "I want you. I want to have everything that you can offer me." He cupped Shiro's cheek and brought him in for a kiss, running his fingers through his hair. God had condemned him and the demon accepted him, urged him on, allowed him his desires without shame or judgement. Shiro could be rough and cruel and he would be infinitely more merciful than any of the gods or the angels had ever been.

Shiro gave a breathy laugh, his head feeling light as he leaned back on his haunches, loving the whine that sudden distance drew from Lotor's lips. "You're so needy," he said, panting a little. My, how he had been breathless... why was he so worked up? It had to be Lotor -- the way the angel was laid out for him, legs splayed open, body alight with red blush and a soft sheen of glistening sweat from his hot skin. Shiro leaned forward, ducking his head in between Lotor's legs, drawing slow kisses down the inside to his thigh -- biting and nipping just gently at the sensitive flesh that resided there. Each little kiss and nibble dragged a moan past his lips, as embarrassing as that was, but Lotor made no attempts to silence himself and instead spread his legs a little more to invite more of that sweet pleasure.

"Maybe this is my worst, angel-face," Shiro purred as he moved to the other thigh, both hands on Lotor's legs to keep them spread open -- making sure not to grip too tight like he had done last time. "Maybe taking it nice and slow is giving you no mercy. Dragging it out. Driving you crazy." One of Shiro's hands drifted from Lotor's leg and to the hem of his boxers instead, curling round the elastic and giving a teasing sort of tug -- pulling the one side over his hip bone. "Are you sure you want me to give you all that I've got? Every trick and tease included?"

"Everything," Lotor had insisted, his eyes fixed on Shiro. "I want to experience everything that I've abstained from for so long, Takashi, and I want you to get to work making me see stars," he said, his eyes flicking down at Shiro and his cheeks flushing a darker red just from seeing him somewhere so intimate. He could see his skin reddening and darkening as a result of Shiro's intensive treatment, the places of contact buzzing just from Shiro's touch. "I'm crazy enough as it is, just considering what you could do to me. I want you to make me go insane. I gave up my status in heaven; make that worth my while."

Shiro's whole system seemed to light up at the title Takashi. He figured the witch wasn't such a problem after all.

"Mm, so demanding," Shiro hummed, a smirk curling up the corners of his lips. Done with Lotor's thighs, Shiro moved up a bit, crawling over Lotor so their faces were level. "You do realize you're my bottom bitch in this situation. You don't really get to make the demands."

He watched Lotor's face nice and closely as he tugged the the boxers down with his one hand -- watching the way he shuddered once he'd been freed from such restricting fabric -- and he used the other to hold Lotor's body down nice and firm against the old mattress. Shiro's free clawed fingertips then found their way to Lotor's collarbone, connecting the dots of his hickeys all the way down to his waist -- using the edges of his nails to tickle the sensitive skin until he had made it to the spot Lotor had been waiting for. He ran his touch down Lotor's member slowly -- agonizingly so, watching the way Lotor's features twisted with want. Shiro felt his hips buck beneath him, but he held him down with his one hand, clucking his tongue at Lotor's impatience.

"Patience is a virtue, Lotor," Shiro said in a judging sort of tone, shaking his head as he took his hand away from Lotor.

He rose it up by his own head, and whisked his hand around in a circle, summoning up a bottle of lube. The rush of magic made his head spin, but it wasn't as if it hadn't already been whirling like a top losing its speed after a long spin. The want for Lotor was driving him mad -- it made him rather hypocritical, really. Preaching about patience as his body screamed at him to get on with it, his midsection aching, his lower gut a tight pool of tension as the blood pumped down to his rather obvious boner.

Shiro popped open the lube, laughing at the quizzical look Lotor had given him for it. "It's important," Shiro said as he coated up his fingers. He spread Lotor's legs a little wider, began to lube Lotor too, shushing him lightly when he let out a whimper at the sensation. "Trust me. It feels much better with this stuff. Especially because I have claws."

Without another word, Shiro slid one slow finger into Lotor's entrance, careful with his claw. He watched Lotor closely gauging a reaction -- letting him adjust properly before he even dared to try and move. Shiro leaned forwards a little, using one hand to slowly brush some of the hair from Lotor's glistening brow as the other began to pump in and out of him at a slow pace, fingers feeling around Lotor to try and find a special spot.

"Do you like that, Lotor?" he asked, trying to stay quiet and seductive but being thrown off by the loud purrs thundering past his lips. "Sounds like you do."

The second the weirdness of the new sensation had faded, Lotor had loved it. Of course he had; it just drove him insane to know that he was being so intimate- and with a demon, no less. He bucked his hips a little again, grabbing a fistful of Shiro's hair and pulling him in for an impatient kiss, needing something to force all of these feelings out of him, needing a way of showing Shiro exactly how badly he needed this, needing a way of conveying how badly he wanted it.

"Fuck-!" he'd hissed past his teeth when Shiro found that spot, damn near experiencing bliss already. The pleasure was addicting and Shiro was already like his nicotine. He was itching for more of it, craving it, wanting to kiss Shiro to get his fill, wanting to be kissed, bitten, scratched, fucked, just to get his fill. He was hooked on Shiro, it would be a matter of time before he was hooked on sex too if it felt this damn good.

Being a disgraced angel wasn't such a bad thing in a situation like this.

"Aren't you- ngn- getting impatient?" he breathed to Shiro, a small grin curling about on his lips. "Aren't you needy? Don't you want to feel this bliss just as badly as I do?" He punctuated his question with a sharp tug to Shiro's hair, forcing the demon to look at him and meeting his eyes. The next demand that rolled past his lips was low and seductive and demanding, spoken through the moans that began to spill past his lips. "Tell me how- ah- badly you want this."

Shiro shuddered a bit at the sound of Lotor's voice -- the set of his hazy eyes and the controlled tug of Shiro's hair. He tipped his head forwards a bit and narrowed his eyes, trying to keep up his own collected stature from earlier as he continued to finger Lotor, pressing a little harder into that sweet spot he had found. "What are you trying to do?" he asked, voice panted and breathy. Lotor's grip, whether it had been the reaction to Shiro's finger or another rush of bravery, had tightened in his hair -- a sharp sting began to bite at his scalp and it nearly drove Shiro crazy for more. "I'm the one who asks the questions here."

With that, Shiro slipped an unexpected second finger in with the first, slowing the movement of his hand so Lotor could adjust a few moments. He grinned at the way Lotor's features seemed to contort at the feelings -- the way his brow drew up and his eyes shot wide open and his lips parted. "I'm not impatient," Shiro said in a murmur, hoping the breathlessness of his tone didn't make it too obvious he'd been lying. "I've done this before. You haven't. I can wait as long as I want, angel face."

Lotor gasped, his back arching, the suddenness of the second finger being overwhelming for just a moment. He almost let a curse slip past his lips, almost letting a whimper of 'please' fall past his parted lips. He wanted more pleasure so desperately. He almost couldn't stop himself. He nearly couldn't help himself.  
"I want you," he did say after a few moments, his eyes squeezing shut as he bucked his hips sharply. He hated his body for always submitting to him. He hated how quickly Shiro would get to him. "I asked for this and I want it now."

His body felt so hot and so sensitive, his skin tingling and his body covered with a thin sheen of sweat from the exertion.

Shiro laughed, leaning in close to kiss along the inside of Lotor's thighs as he sped up the movement of his hand a bit more. "You're not the position to command me," he purred, winking at Lotor from his place between his legs. Despite his teasing, Shiro slipped his third finger in with the first two, giving Lotor more just to keep him content. He continued to kiss up and down Lotor's legs, tender and intimate but oh so teasing all at the same time. "Don't you remember? I like to hear you beg for me."

Lotor looked up at Shiro, almost managing to oppose him or to challenge him when those fingers, moving at their agonisingly teasing pace, managed to brush against a particular spot so sensitive that it sent jolts of electricity through his body, lighting him up like fire and deriving a loud, sweet moan from his lips and a stream of precum from the tip of his throbbing member. That was, most likely, the moment in which he broke. He succumbed to the demon's commands and desires. He was defeated in that moment, the pleasure and the desperation winning over him.  
"Takashi-!" he gasped, his voice breathless yet still so full of an unspoken desire, so strong with need. It was enough to stir something primal in Shiro, just for a moment.

 

Lotor's gaze fixed on Shiro, settled between his legs, adorning his thighs with kisses aplenty and almost praising his skin with each little brush of his lips- even if each gentle kiss was soon going to leave ugly, violent bruises and dark patches of impurity. That was something to be dealt with later. That was something Lotor could consider when he wasn't focusing so heavily on how good Shiro was making him feel, how his skin felt like it was burning with the intensity of the pleasure or with how overwhelming the sensations were.

"Beg."

 

The low and coaxing command left Shiro's lips once more, his suave demeanour and seductive tongue easily unwinding Lotor. The words fell easily past his lips after just a moment.

"Please!" he began, loud and demanding yet still so desperate. "Takashi- ah~- Takashi, please, I need you. I need you to help me! I-- My body is on fire, Shiro! It burns for you. I want you to devour me like a flame to candle wax. I want you to- nng~ show me pleasure I've never experienced before!"

Shiro paused a moment to bask in the sound of Lotor's pleading begs, before he cupped his jaw- running his claws along Lotor's jawline and scratching it slightly as he leant in, pressing their lips together to show Lotor that he'd begged enough, that he'd been well behaved. He moved his fingers a little quicker as a further reward, even going as far as to start curling them into that spot, wanting to give Lotor pleasure, wanting to drag this out- and if he had any luck, Lotor would be overstimulated and perfectly vocal for him for when Shiro got to spreading his legs and using his body as selfishly as he wanted to.

Lotor's moans were, as expected, as beautiful as an angels chorus, though they were full of desperation and need. The fingers kept moving, Shiro wanting to push him to a climax to see what it would take before going any further, admitting that it was rather selfish of him but he couldn't help himself. Seeing Lotor beneath him like this, squirming and writhing, arching his back off of the mattress as his body struggled to adjust to this sensation of pleasure. So he kept moving his fingers, curling them into that spot, abusing his prostate and pleasuring Lotor to satisfy himself and his own dirty desires that he'd repressed for far too long.

And it was definitely worth it when he watched the expression that curled up on Lotor's features. The perfect 'o' shape that his lips curled into, the way that the pure bliss was reflected so perfectly in his eyes and his perfect cry of Shiro's name. Shiro had only just pulled his fingers out, hands settling on Lotor's thighs, when the beautiful white wings on Lotor's back, still molting their feathers, burst into a gorgeous display of passionate red, amber, blinding gold and white as they set aflame.

And Lotor's eyes widened, his face contorting into an expression of pure agony as he screamed, even as the amber flames cast a gorgeous golden glow across his sweaty, slender body. Even as it cast him in such a beautiful mix of white and red light, the scream that tore from his throat offset the beauty.

And Lotor lay there, beneath Shiro, his body burning with pleasure and with the flames that devoured his wings.

And Lotor screamed.


	21. An Angel No More

Days.

Days had passed since that one fateful night.

Days had passed since Lotor’s wings had burnt to charred scars on his shoulder blades.

He’d passed out from the pain as the flames were beginning to die down and hadn’t woken up since, currently lying with a cold, damp cloth over his forehead to keep him cool, wearing some loose clothes that would save him from burning up but keep him covered up, the blanket lying over the bottom half of his body.

Shiro had been left to look after him.

And Shiro barely had any idea of what he was supposed to do. 

He didn’t really have a clue of what could have happened — and it didn’t help that he had pushed it all back in mind as something to forget. One moment watching Lotor writhe in pure bliss beneath his fingers, and then the next listen to him howl in agony. Shiro didn’t want to think about it — he didn’t want to think about it being his fault either. Even if the thought would come to him over and over again while he tended to the unconscious Lotor. Make him frown and pinch his eyes closed tight for a good second or so, using all the tactics he had gathered from his time in Hell to suppress the memory of Lotor’s wings bursting into extravagant flame. 

Atlas stayed by Lotor’s side whenever Shiro had to leave it, even if the occurrence was rare. Shiro tried to stay as close to him as possible — to keep his tired eyes open to watch and protect him in his sleep. He changed the cloth over Lotor’s forehead every hour or so, and then he’d check Lotor’s high but steadily declining temperature. Of course, Shiro didn’t know the basic health safety for angels, and Lotor’s transformation into such a new creature didn’t quite help, but Shiro figured he was close enough to human. That’s what he hoped anyways as he treated him.

Only a rather big problem was approaching. 

New Moon would come soon. 

The night before the New Moon, Shiro sat inside, trying hard to keep from basking in the night’s magic to try and stall the process — but it was no use. The power laced his blood and his skin. The feral need and want for destruction swirled deep in his chest. He could feel his demonic tendencies creeping in between his concern for Lotor, every nerve in his body urging him to just leave the strange quarter angel there (Shiro figured Lotor was at least some bit of angel… his soul and his blood anyways). He stayed however, jumpy and tense but by Lotor’s bedside nonetheless. 

Shiro didn’t think about what he would have to do the next night.

He sat beside Atlas with Feathers, surprisingly, in his lap. Shiro had taken responsibility of her as well after Lotor blacked out — just then he was gently combing his claws through her fur, listening to the creature purr in his lap, wondering what the two of them could ever have in common. Lotor was still asleep with no apparent sign of waking, every hour that passed winding Shiro’s restless worry — like a metal corkscrew, tighter and tighter until he had no choice but snapping. Shiro settled his eyes to a close and grit his teeth, shaking his head. 

“What are we going to do, Attie?” he asked quietly, voice alone as it settled in the warehouse. 

She didn’t have an answer. She just whined, and pressed her nose supportively into Shiro’s shoulder. It was something simple and little… but there was no denying it made him feel better. 

But, luckily for Shiro, it was a matter of moments later that Lotor jolted upright, waking with a start and a gasp, one hand clasped over his chest to feel his rapidly beating heart.   
“Shiro-“ was the first word that left his lips, his eyes scanning the room around him before they fixed on Shiro, relief crossing his features

He was up. Awake, conscious, active, and safely registering his environment. Not to mention speaking successfully and not seeming to be in too much pain anymore.   
“Shiro… it’s good to have you here,” he managed eventually, his eyes fixing on him. But they weren’t Lotor’s eyes. They were still a soft lavender, and they still had those soft flecks of gold Shiro had observed in the intimacy shared those days ago. But now they were surrounded with the ebony sclera that typically only belonged to demons with excessive amounts of power. 

The horns upon his head, too, had grown. Where they used to be stumps still growing, they were now standing long and proud upon his head, almost the same size as the length of Lotor’s forearm. And, the halo above his head was now a ring of shattered fragments, like the rings surrounding a planet that cast a ghostly golden glow upon his face. He seemed oblivious, however, sitting in Shiro’s bed with small beads of sweat trickling down his face and an exhausted smile on his lips. He had yet to shake off the sleepiness weighing down on his shoulders to push him back to bed and his eyelids to force him to sleep. 

He had yet to notice the lack of wings upon his back and, in their place, there were two charred scar marks on his shoulder blades. He had yet to notice the black splotches that marked his skin in every place Shiro had kissed or bitten or dug his nails into. His perfect skin, tarnished with blotches of inky black. His cracked halo now shattered. His beautiful yet damaged wings now gone entirely.

He was living what would have been a nightmare only a few months ago. And he had yet to find out. 

Shiro sat up straight, eyes shooting open wide. He leaned forwards quickly, reaching a hand towards Lotor’s shoulder in an instinctive manner, but then freezing up and holding himself back before he could touch Lotor -- even if it was just to steady him. He curled his hands up into fists, and he brought it down to his side -- but he kept his alter focus trained on Lotor, eyes wide and nervous as he looked Lotor up and down. 

“Lotor,” Shiro said, at a lack of any other words at the sight of his eyes. He had to squeeze his fists even tighter, his claws digging deep into his palm to try and restrain himself from reaching up and gracing his touch across Lotor’s cheek -- to try and keep himself from comforting him. “I… you’re awake. Fuck- how are you feeling? You’ve been out for days. You were really starting to worry me there.”

Lotor hesitated a little, brows furrowing, noticing how tentative Shiro was. He reached out, wrapping both arms around Shiro tightly, clutching to him.   
“I’m… not bad,” he managed to say after a short while, slowly releasing his hold on Shiro. “I need to get out of bed. My body is sore from staying in bed rest… from your worry, I assume it’s been at least three days?” he pushed himself to his feet and slowly out of the bed, shaking a little but managing to stay on his feet. 

He turned to look at Shiro, about to pull the demon to his feet when he caught a glance of himself in the mirror, the sheer shock of seeing such a different, such a strikingly new face in the mirror sent ice through his body. He approached the mirror, moving an ebony talon to his face and running it along his cheek, his eyes wide. Oh, god. That… that was him?

Those cold black eyes? The long, jagged black horns jutting out of his head? The short hair, cut jaggedly? The…

His eyes widened. He turned, looking over his shoulder, his wings gone. Scars, blotchy and messy yet identical on both sides of his spine, were vibrant against his dark skin. He’d lost his wings. He’d lost everything. It didn’t hurt anymore but… but it stung in his chest. His heart twisted, his stomach churning. He’d lost everything- this just made it official. This confirmed that he was never going to get back to heaven.

But when the sadness and fear faded, it was replaced with anger. A strong, burning anger. It gnawed away at him, eating at his stomach.  
Heaven had made him beautiful, promised him love and fortune.   
Then heaven had made him ugly. Too ugly for heaven. Too ugly for an angel to cast their eyes upon him. But, still, he was too rare- too delicious- to risk being sent to hell. To risk nearing it without being tormented and beaten and used for every little part of him that wasn’t demonic.

Shiro noticed just how stuck in his reflection Lotor had been, a rush of concern shooting through his system. He sidestepped in front of Lotor, standing between him and the mirror, abandoning his earlier guilt and placing both hands on Lotor’s shoulders to try and ground him. He tried hard to connect their gazes, trying hard to steal Lotor’s attention, hands squeezing a little tighter on his shoulders. 

“Hey, Lotor -- hey it’s okay,” Shiro spluttered, desperate to try calm him down while the shock still numbed his system. “It’s alright. We can fix it. We… we can do something. Don’t freak out, man. You’re okay… I… it doesn’t even look that bad. I mean, in all seriousness it’s kinda hot, actually-” Shiro cut himself off with a wince, and shook his head a little. “But we can fix it. Just don't freak out, okay?” 

Lotor turned to look at Shiro, anger burning in his eyes. He thrust out a hand as if to push Shiro away but before he could even make contact, a burst of energy shot from the palm of his hand and shot Shiro across the room, into the opposite wall. He charged after him, grabbing ahold of his collar and gripping to it tightly, flashing his sharp teeth- sharper than before. Shiro had been so dazed he barely even had the moment to respond, eyes shooting open wide and lips parting. Lotor began in his furious tone before Shiro could even make a sound. 

“Don’t freak out?!” he snarled. “I’m a monster, Shiro! I couldn’t be farther from an angel! I couldn’t be less of a monster if I were to try! What am I meant to do with any of this? It’s as if I’ve been branded across the forehead with the word ‘FREAK’!” he gripped tighter to Shiro’s shirt, lifting him off of his feet slightly as he brought the demon closer. “What am I meant to do if I’m not supposed to freak out? No wings, no halo, instead I get horns and claws and sharp teeth and black eyes! If I’m destined to be a monster, so be it, but I’m bound to be so hideous that both heaven and hell would never see me as a fitting citizen. I would be an outcast if ever I returned to the heavens and a prize, an object, if I entered hell. What am I supposed to do? Accept my fate? Let you fawn over me and let that become my life? How do you intend to fix any of this?”

Shiro’s hands flew to Lotor’s, grasping at his wrists and tugging but to no avail. A very powerful magic seemed to waft from the creature before him, the energy spilling out from his skin and infecting the air with the dirty yet so profoundly addicting taste of black, rich magic. Shiro felt his internal instinct whirl with fright -- whatever that was before him was more powerful than he had been. Against that, however, had been the stubbornness of his own magic. The reckless want for chaos that always came along with the New Moon. Shiro suppress both primal drives, knowing neither cowering in fright nor fighting back would help in any way. Instead, he looked up into Lotor’s thoughtlessly rageful eyes, almost in a challenging sort of way. 

“Lotor,” he said firmly, gritting his teeth and pulling his lips back to show his own fangs. “Calm down. This isn’t you -- this is the New Moon, alright? You just have to fight it. You can fight it. Put me down and take a deep breath.” 

It took Lotor a few moments but he did, soon, release Shiro and take a couple of steps back.  
“What’s happening to me, Shiro?” he asked after a few shaky moments, his hands shaking and stomach churning as he waited for Shiro to explain it- as if Shiro would know exactly what was happening and be able to tell him what to do about it all. He was just scared. Anxious. He didn’t know what to say or who to turn to about it, and that alone made his anxiety spike, surrounding him with a fearful and miserable sort of aura, making the temperature of the room drop ever so slightly.

And he had all of this effect on his environment without even realising what he was doing to it. The power he had was unfathomable.

Shiro lifted a hand to his collar, smoothing it out a little bit as he cautiously watched Lotor notice the effect of his own power. Again, he tried to overcome his instinctive fear, and took a slight step forwards, choosing his words very carefully to keep from getting thrown against the wall again. 

“Well, uh… what we did… what I did, it did something to you,” Shiro explained, guilt underlining his tone. “You wings burst into flames and-... and you passed out. Your horns started to grow and so did your claws and those marks on your face went black.” He looked down to the ground, reaching up his hands to his opposite arms a bit anxiously, the buzzing of powerful magic setting his nerves on edge. It was the same sort of feeling he’d get around Sendak or any other of his higher-ups. “Whatever happened, you’re a little bit more… demon now. New Moon is tomorrow night. I’m sure the dark magic is fueling a lot of your, uh, emotions. Just take some deep breaths, okay? We can’t afford you going feral right now.”

“What can I do?” Lotor asked, his hands beginning to shake even as he began to take a few breaths, glancing to the mirror again to run his talons over his marks- the ones now poisoned with an inky blackness that dragged down his face and neared his lips. He was horrified by his own reflection, disgusted by what had been done to him, hating how he looked and how disgusting he’d become. “What is there for me to do? Just stay here, wallowing in pity? Basking in my own self-loathing and disgust? What am I, Shiro? I’m no angel, but I’m not a demon. I’m far from human. I’m an abomination that the Gods would turn away from. I’m a monster that the demons would devour if they got the chance. What would there be for me to do?”

He had no real power here. He had new abilities but using them was exhausting and took a lot of emotion. He had nothing that he could do. All he had was Shiro, Atlas, and Feathers. They were all he would ever have.  
“Is this going to be my home until the day that I die? If I even can die? Will I be forced to endure an eternity of agony?”

Shiro swallowed hard, his stomach churning at Lotor’s tone and Lotor’s anger. “I don’t know,” he murmured, his shoulders rising up a bit with his own discomfort. “I don’t know anything about any of this, Lotor. But… if you want to leave this place, you can. You don’t have to stay here with me if you don’t want to.” 

He managed to look up from the floor, trying not to crumble under Lotor’s black eyed gaze -- trying not to feel so scared and small beneath the power of his magic. He didn't have to be afraid… he couldn’t be afraid. That was Lotor. He was an angel… he was the creature who saved Shiro just a few weeks ago. The creature who won Shiro a stuffed wolf and who’s eyes gleamed when Shiro presented him with a stuffed cat. Who wrinkled his nose and furrowed his brow at sex jokes and who sacrificed everything to save some good for nothing human from some scumbag demon. That was Lotor. 

“I don’t know what you can do, and I technically don't know what you are, but I know who you are,” Shiro said, taking another step forwards. He managed to let his hands fall down by his sides, shoulders slumping a bit -- relaxing. “You’re Lotor, okay? Kind, smart, dramatic, forgiving Lotor. Some horns and black markings won’t change any of that, okay? Angel, demon, human, or whatever the hell is in between. Nothing can change that.” 

Lotor looked up at Shiro, studying him for a while, his brows furrowing and concern in his eyes as he nodded.  
“Okay,” he murmured, learning down and sweeping Feathers up and into his arms. He held the kitten close, nestling into her fur, using her as some kind of an anchor for support. Then moving to Shiro, learning against his chest and listening to his pulse for support. “Okay,” he said again, as if he was finally beginning to calm down. “Yes… I- I understand. It’s just new. Unusual and terrifying. I never expected to one day look in the mirror and see this face staring back at me.”

He looked up at Shiro, careful not to impale him on his horns. “Do you think that I’m hideous?”

Shiro looked at him and smiled, managing to settle a hand on his hip and another on the small of his back without feeling guilty. “Not at all,” he assured gently, cocking his head to the side. His eyes trailed up to his horns -- deep black, engraved with thin and discrete lines of silverey magic. Shiro lifted his hand from Lotor’s hip and, cautiously, brought it up to one of Lotor’s horns, gracing his claws down the side of it in a curious sort of way, eyes narrowed and brow delicately furrowed as he studied them. “In fact, I think you’re… they’re beautiful… larger horns are a sign of power. Strength.” Shiro’s touch left Lotor’s horns, and instead gravitated towards his own. “I always wished I had horns like that…” 

His gaze flicked up to Lotor’s eyes. “If you don’t like your eyes, I can teach you how to conceal them. That’s what I do with mine most of the time.” Shiro paused, blinking to reveal his own inky black sclera for a moment before blinking again to change it back. “But they’re not that bad, I promise. They’re pretty…” Shiro trailed off, and then he shook his head. “Cool. Pretty cool. That’s what I meant to, uh, say.”

Lotor looked up at him, watching him for a few moments and soon shook his head.  
“No,” he said decisively. “I won’t cover them up. But I… that doesn’t mean that I’ll be overly fond of them, either. I’ll just be easier for me to come to terms with this change if I’m not covering bits of me up and getting accustomed to the version of me I want to be. I hope you were being honest with me.” He reached up, running his finger along the curve of Shiro’s horn. “And I kinda like your horns. They’re tiny.”

Shiro blushed, but he didn't say anything.

He pulled away, turning Feathers in his hand so that he could look at her a little better. “You still love me, don’t you?” She gave a little meow. Lotor smiled and set her back down after a moment, letting her go chasing after bugs or trying to assert dominance over Atlas. He looked back at Shiro, though hesitant to address him again.  
“Come on, we should settle down. It’s nearing the New Moon, I don’t want to exert myself at such a volatile time. You’d better show me how to deal with my magic tomorrow, though.”

Shiro nodded, but he offered a soft sort of laugh. “I can barely deal with my own magic on a New Moon,” he said, sighing a little yet strolling forwards to meet Lotor by the bed. “You are… way more powerful than I am. I think our best bet would be putting you in the forest for the night. Like what I did last month -- take your anger out on some trees and then I’ll come and get you once you simmered down a little.” 

He looked Lotor up and down a bit cautiously, trying his best not to seem intimidated. He was sure that wouldn't help Lotor’s case -- Shiro figured the best way to keep Lotor calm and relaxed was to act as normal as possible. Even if Shiro felt like shying away and cowering from Lotor’s powerful aura. 

“If you want, we can go outside in a little bit to help you properly charge up,” Shiro suggested. “Demons use the dark power of the night to regain our strength. And you’ve been out for… a few days. I’m sure it would help a little.” 

Lotor nodded a little, pushing himself to his feet to begin toward the door, wanting to get some more energy. Wanting to feel better. Wanting to do anything that he could in order to relax and feel just a little more safe. He hated how weak he felt. It was like he could have been attacked at any moment and he wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it, not even defend himself. He hated such weakness. He just wanted to get back to his regular level of strength at minimum. He was trusting Shiro quite a lot to get him there.  
“Do you have a specific location in mind?” he asked shortly, stopping at the warehouse door and holding it open for Shiro. “I’d like it if we could walk so I could find my way there and back.” After so long spent at the warehouse it would be a blessing to get some time away from there.

Shiro made his way up to Lotor’s side, slipping through the door and then watching as Lotor closed it behind him. He lifted his hand and pointed towards the wall of trees behind the warehouse field, smiling a little when he turned his gaze back to Lotor.   
“It’s that same spot we went to a while ago,” he said. “The one with the stream and the perfect opening in the canopy to watch the stars. That’s my favorite spot in this whole damn forest.” 

He grinned after the statement, but he waited until Lotor made his way up to Shiro’s side before starting off on their route, making sure to slow his pace a bit just incase Lotor hadn’t completely recovered from his rest. “Are you sure you’ll be able to walk all the way there?” Shiro asked, only allowing himself to get just a bit concerned. “How is your back feeling?”

“It doesn’t hurt, if that’s what you’re asking,” Lotor said after a few moments. “But it feels lighter. It’s almost uncomfortably light to not have wings. Like lifting your arm if you’ve had it cut off at the elbow. It’s… it’s difficult to explain in any other way. And yes, I can handle it. I want to go. I don’t think that I’d be able to handle being here for much longer and the walk will do me good. If I start to feel exhausted then trust me, you’ll be the first to know.”

He turned his attention to the path ahead and continued onwards, wanting to get to that beautiful spot by the canopy. Wanting to get there and get wrapped up. Wanting to be with Shiro wherever he went, honestly a little relieved that it would be such a scenic location.  
“How are you feeling? I can’t imagine it’s been pleasant for me to have endured so much under your care.”

Shiro blinked a little, surprised at the strange new changes in pace. Just about five minutes ago, he’d been thrown against the wall and pinned there by Lotor’s frightening yet interesting new strength, and then he was walking with Lotor in the forest, listening it the creature beside him ask how he had been feeling. He almost couldn’t answer for a good moment or so, too busy pondering over their bizarre situation. When he found his words, though, his voice was quiet and sheepish. 

“I’m fine, Lotor. You… you shouldn’t worry about me,” he said, daring to flick his eyes from the path and up to Lotor at his side. 

The night was alive with the sounds and sights of nocturnal wildlife -- beautiful as the frogs croaked and the crickets chirped and the bats flapped about overhead. The trees whispered, their leaves dance like shadowed ballerinas in the sweet night breeze. The stars speckled in the open spots of the canopy. The Waning Crescent above shined down the best it could with its sliver of light. It was all so calming. A walk of serenity and peace after days of anxiety and worry. After that moment or so ago of fear and intimidation. It was all so… beautiful. 

Though Shiro had to say, looking at Lotor right then and there, that nothing was quite as beautiful as him. Even with his new monstrous imperfections. It was almost as if they hadn’t been there. 

Even as a demon, he was enthralling. Better than Shiro in every way. Shiro looked back down to the path, and smiled a little bit. 

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with me.” He spotted a rock in the path, and gave it a nice kick -- much like he had done during one of their very first walks together. “I’m not worth it.”

“Not worth it?” Lotor asked after a few moments, letting out a quiet little laugh. “What makes you think something that absurd? I can’t think of a single thing that would stop you from being worth my concern or worry- and if I ever were to meet another demon that acted the way you did, I’d be concerned about them, too.” He didn’t wait for a response, stopping where he was stood and reaching out to settle one hand on Shiro’s arm. “It’s not about what you are, Shiro. I don’t care that you’re a demon, or that you do bad things. I care about who you are, and you’re nothing but sweet. Even if you try hard not to be.” 

Lotor gave up a reassuring smile, as if to sell his words a little better, before he started down the path again, drinking in the moonlight as it fell, scattered, in gaps between the leaves. It was rejuvenating. It was overwhelming to be somewhere that he could actually relax and take in the effects- the positive effects of his new form. Even if one of those features was recharging by the moonlight- or lack thereof in the New moon- instead of naturally and consistently having that power from the sun.

He wanted to get back to that spot by the river again. He wanted to relax. Perhaps, even, to draw again if his ugly taloned hands would allow him the luxury.

Shiro looked at him, frowning. “I’m not sweet,” he argued, even if he felt his face warm and his heart flutter a bit at Lotor’s smile. “Not to brag, but I am a force of pure, chaotic evil. I’m lots of things, but I’m not sweet. Or cute.” 

He found another stone and, as one does, kicked off into the side of the trail. A smirk curled at the corners of his lips at the way the rock bounced off into the green, shadowed brush, and instantly turned his attention back to the trail to find another one. They would be getting to the stream soon — Shiro could both hear it and smell it. Maybe when they got there Shiro could find more rocks to drop into the deeper sections of the water. He could watch them break the surface with a splash and then sink down to the stream bed. Maybe then he could try to find a calmer section of the stream and try to skip stones instead of mindlessly drop them. 

Shiro could feel Lotor watching him. Feel that smile. He decided not to comment, and punted another rock off into the distant forest.

Lotor couldn’t help himself.

They had gotten to the stream by then, and Shiro was already skipping those stones. Something about having Shiro sitting there near him, pretending not to notice him, staring out to the stream with a childish habit of throwing or skipping stones. He decided to test his abilities, thinking of how he would have summoned things as an angel and just beginning to focus on having the sketchbook in his hand when it appeared in his palm, using barely an inch of the energy it would normally take to create something. This newfound power was going to be addictive, he knew it, but he was no stranger to fighting temptation. He could handle it. He would handle it.

And in the meantime, he would just sit there a little away from Shiro, beginning to sketch him, starting on a loose sketch of his body and smiling fondly as he worked on it. He continued, putting in detail after detail after detail. It was something absent for him to do while Shiro’s back was turned, even as he drew his hand with the way his fingers uncurled around the stone as he flung it, even as he shaded and textured a background and showed the rock splashing against the stream. Even as he studied Shiro’s every detail, the muscles, the scars, the little creases in his clothes and the stray strands of hair. Studying Shiro gave him an excuse to stare at him, after all. One that even he could fall for; it’s just a harmless life study of his only available subject.

The one person he felt safe around. The one person who liked him regardless of his his hideous horns or his newfound intimidating powers. Shiro liked him regardless. And they’d saved each other’s lives more times than he could count- though he’d saved Shiro’s life physically. Shiro had saved him from an agonising life of abstinence and rule abiding he hadn’t even meant to follow. That he wouldn’t have followed if he’d been shown even a glimpse of the sinful fun awaiting him- that Shiro had opened his eyes to. And sex wasn’t even the first on the list.

“Shiro,” he said after a short while. “Is there any reason why this is your favourite place?”

There was a pause as Shiro’s latest rock hopped about three times across the surface of the stream, leaping from ripple to ripple before it plunged down into the deeper of the dips in the stream. Shiro waited until it was gone to try and think of an answer, counting the skips to try and beat his record — six hops all the way across the stream, the rock landing on the other side of the stream bed. He leaned back after his failed attempt at breaking the score, turning to look at Lotor, head cocked. 

“I… I don’t know. I’ve always been drawn to water,” he said quietly, shrugging his shoulders a little. “The same way I like to look at the stars.” He turned to look at the dark stream, glistening in the starlight, babbling in the shadow. 

Shiro settled his eyes closed for a moment, just listening to the whisper of the stream as it trickled over the rocks. “The sound of the water… it starts to take me somewhere I can’t even recognize…” he murmured, a gentle smile curling up his lips. “If I close my eyes I can get closer to wherever it is… it’s dark… comfortable. The bugs are chirping. The frogs are croaking. The night sky is nothing but stars… and Full Moon is beautiful, not draining. I feel happy. Free… like I was trapped somewhere before. There’s… there’s someone next to me… someone special…”

And that’s when he lost it. Shiro’s mind went blank by then, the memory just gone. He could squeeze his eyes shut so tightly and strain his mind the best he could, but it was gone. Nothing but broken, shattered pieces of distant feelings. Barely a memory at all. And when Shiro opened his eyes again, he was back in the present. Back in his body with its claws and its horns and its hatred and anger. 

And that’s when Shiro’s heart sank. As it always did when he’d fail to remember. 

He brought his knees to his chest, biting on his lower lip with his fangs. Shiro was glad he was turned away from Lotor — he could offer a weak laugh, even through his miserable frown and his sad eyes and Lotor wouldn’t be able to tell. He shook his head a little and sighed. 

“Like I said a while ago,” Shiro murmured. “I miss memories I don’t even have. The sound of water just… helps. And this place has the best rocks to throw, so that’s, uh, a plus.” To distract himself from his feelings, Shiro looked back towards the ground for more stones, acting as if he hadn’t just confessed one of his most cherished feelings out loud. 

Lotor watched him for a few moments, studying Shiro as he closed off only moments after exposing such a beautiful and secret part of his mind. He doubted that there would be another time soon where Shiro would be so willing to indulge in his own personal feelings, in the ache that followed with a missing memory, and he hesitated before wrapping one arm around Shiro.

A little gesture for comfort, nothing more, but he was sure that it helped Shiro more than words could describe. From the way that the tension flooded out of the body next to him he could tell that it did.  
“Thank you for telling me,” he said after a little while, though he chose his words carefully as if he wanted to ensure that Shiro knew how important it was to him. “We can stay here for as long as you like, I don’t mind. If this place brings you that much comfort than we could come here every day to sit on the riverbank, throwing stones.”

He didn’t wait for a response, letting his head tip onto Shiro’s shoulder and being incredibly careful, again, with his horns. After a few moments, though, his eyes lit up a little and he sat up again, turning his attention to Shiro.  
“However,” he began, a little smile curling onto his lips. “I might know someone who could help.”


	22. The Goddess Of The White Lion

Shiro shook his head. “Nope. I changed my mind,” he said, voice nothing but stubborn -- pitched with his own immovable decision. He folded his arms over his chest, having stopped dead in his tracks, keeping his hands far away from Lotor so he couldn’t willingly let the creature before him teleport them both to whatever realm he wanted to talk them. “I don’t want to go. This is a bad idea.” 

A few days and a few nights had passed since the one by the stream. They had gotten through the New Moon by letting Lotor stay in the forest and letting Shiro run the town for the night -- each of them had been tuckered out and completely satisfied by the time the morning had dawned, Atlas included. The Hellhound was still digesting a bellyful of damned souls -- and of course digesting really means transporting them to Hell. Those were the folks that hadn’t lost their paradise via dealing with demons. Rather, they had been the ones to lose it with their own ungodly actions. They had traveled to the hospital, waiting for the dirty humans to be reaped before Atlas collected them while Shiro’s feralness caused him to slip about the floors unplugging machines and letting the power flicker on and off in his invisible wake. 

Lotor had just torn up the forest, really. At least a section of it. Even as he’d tried to fight all of the power that flooded his veins, he’d only managed to hold back for seconds- ten at most- before a shock of energy ran through his body so powerfully that it felt like it would be tearing him apart. He decided after that to just let out his energy, as destructive as it was and as guilty as it made him feel. The last thing he needed was to use up too little energy and still be teeming with it when he got back. He’d already promised himself that when he was back to normal power levels he’d return to the forest to repair as much damage as possible but until then, the guilt would eat at him for the destruction caused. The bright side of it was that no living thing was harmed, nothing but plants and trees were damaged, and he was successfully exhausted and had healthy levels of energy again by the time it was over.

All in all, it was a successful New Moon, and Shiro could already feel his powers dampening in its shadow. However, Lotor’s powers seemed to remain stabilized. Of course, they didn't grow as threatening nor as powerful as they did when he was juiced up on the pure black magic of the dark night sky, but Lotor didn't seem like he could ever get to any of the low points that Shiro would reach in his own power cycles. As if he was using his angel battery and his newly acquired demon battery at the same time. 

It was terrifyingly impressive how powerful Lotor was. 

However, Shiro still argued with him, his lips curled into a stubborn sort of frown as they stood there in the field behind the warehouse. 

“I… I mean I want to learn more about my past, I really do, but taking me to go see a goddess?” Shiro shook his head again, scoffing. “She’s going to smite me or something! I’m a demon, Lotor! A purebred monster. Didn't you say she hated you, too? What if she smites you, Lotor?”

“She despises me, yes, but that’s irrelevant to the case. She prides herself on pacifism, and as much as I may doubt her I don’t doubt that she’ll preserve that until one of us does something to offset violence. Which, hopefully, neither of us will do.” He reached out again to take Shiro’s hand, only meant as a comforting gesture, but again it was snatched from him. A low and irate sigh glided past Lotor’s lips as he held his hands up, fingers splayed, in a show of surrender. “Shiro, I’m not going to force you to go, but would you rather live in ignorance than take one risk?”

He waited a few moments. The conflict of his question was apparent on Shiro’s features but instead of addressing it, Lotor sighed and averted his eyes.  
“She is a Goddess, yes, but she is a pacifist. She’s an entity of enlightenment, of knowledge, of passion and inquisitivity and curiosity. She is the Goddess of peace and harmony, in determination and strength. The Goddess of the White Lion will not smite you upon sight simply because you’re a demon, nor will she smite me upon sight solely because we had a twisted past when we were in life.”

Another step forward and Lotor reached out, this time catching Shiro’s hand in his own, gripping onto it and looking Shiro in the eyes.  
“Don’t you trust me? Would I ever voluntarily lead us somewhere to cause you harm?” He reached up with his other hand to brush Shiro’s cheek. A show of affection to comfort him, to soothe away his anxieties and paranoia. Shiro’s eyes had grown wide and his bitter scowl had faded, the touch instantly easing his nerves, the feeling of Lotor’s buzzing magic seeping into his skin and down into his system. Lotor pulled back his hand a moment later, though, when he realised that the touch tingled against Shiro’s skin and that he’d inadvertently activated his powers again. He also chose not to notice how Shiro tilted his head to try and follow the touch as he was deprived of it. “I’ve saved your life so many times already. If something goes south while we visit her, then I will do so again. All that I ask for is trust. Trust me in that I will lead us there safely and lead us back safely.”

And, seeming to be done speaking, Lotor pulled back to look into Shiro’s eyes, awaiting his permission or denial. Whichever answer he got next he would treat as if it were law, and he would allow Shiro to feel that way, but he truly hoped it would be a yes. He couldn’t imagine the harrowing emptiness that might run through him, filling his skull and stomach with a gnawing blankness, due to the absence of his memories.

Shiro frowned up at him, wishing with every fiber of his being that Lotor would touch his face again. Would hold his hand again… but he didn’t ask. Instead he flicked his gaze back down to the ground, drawing up his shoulders a bit and wrapping his arms around himself in a weak attempt of self-comfort. He nodded his head, still trying to keep up his bitter appearance from before even as he crumbled to Lotor’s will. 

It was almost like Lotor could get him to do whatever he wanted with nothing but a gentle touch of his hand. 

“I trust you,” Shiro murmured, nodding. “You… you usually know what’s best, I guess. And I can pin the blame on you if things go haywire.” He gave a halfhearted snicker, shaking his head a little as he unfolded his arms. Shiro stepped a little closer to him, before offering out a hand again. “Alright. Let’s go.”

“Thank you,” Lotor said softly as he moved one hand to cup Shiro’s cheek, looking into his eyes and offering a small, grateful smile. “You’ll be thankful for this when you’ve got your memories back.”

And, taking Shiro’s hand again, Lotor closed his eyes to teleport them, feeling the ground disappear from under their feet and, a matter of moments later, settle upon a cold marble floor. He opened his eyes again, now stood in a tall temple built of a shining glass-like material, a large structure of a lion built into the centre of the steps that led to where she was stood.

Allura, with long white hair that fell down her back in waves of curls, tended to a garden of juniberry flowers and other sweet-smelling unfamiliar plants that Lotor hadn’t seen before. She was the image of beauty in the ethereal amber shine of the sunlight that dripped through the walls of the temple like liquid gold, making her skin seem to glow. The dress she wore, a gown of pinks and turquoise, dragged along her with each step and was decorated with a rich tapestry of embroidery. And upon her forehead was a golden crown, a blue stone shining proudly from it's spot above the bridge of her nose. Lotor took a few steps inside, toward the centre of the room, and cleared his throat.

“Allura,” he began, his voice bringing tension to her shoulders and making her attention fix immediately upon him, eyes widening before the situation processed and they narrowed.  
“Lotor,” she greeted in the same manner, though her words were a little more cold, juxtaposing the warmth that she had been exhibiting barely moments ago. She didn’t seem to react to the new state of him, the horns or the eyes. She didn’t seem surprised- as if she either already knew, didn’t care, or expected him to end up like this eventually.

His eyes fixed on her as she turned to face him, stood tall atop of the stairway and with suddenly cold look upon her kind features. Almost obediently, as if this was a routine practiced over one hundred times, Lotor dropped to one knee before her and tipped his head down.

Shiro, nervously watching the display, gave an awkward sort of courtesy -- bowing, but not quite getting down on one knee. He was a bit enraptured by the creature… by the goddess before him. Shiro had never been around such pure, bright magic before -- even with Lotor, there had always been some sort of damper that separated his grace from Shiro’s presence. But then… standing before such an entity of power… the magic just lived in the air. Shiro could feel the buzzing touch of it against his skin, soothing his scars and all the fear or anger he had brewed in his system. It was nothing so powerful to the extent of discombobulating him, but there was certainly a feeling of dazed surprise that coated him and his awareness.

Lotor’s voice snapped him from it quickly, however.

“Goddess Allura of the White Lion, I’ve arrived today seeking aid. I bring with me Takashi, a demon who goes by the name Shiro. He wants to know about who he was in life and what he did to be sentenced to hell. We seek your enlightenment so that Shiro might discover who he had been before his death and rebirth into a demon. Would you be so generous as to allow him to be privy to the memories that were stolen from him?”

She took a couple of steps down the stairs, her eyes fixing on the two on the floor. First looking at Lotor, then turning to study Shiro.  
“Takashi,” she said, addressing him directly, much to Lotor’s surprise. And boldly by his first name. “Is this what you want? To know who you used to be?”

Shiro gave an involuntary swallow, his throat bobbing a bit as he weakly cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said, voice barely anything above a whisper. The closer she got, the more powerful that feeling of light, clean magic affected him. “Yes, uh, please, I mean. If you want to. You don’t, like, have to if you don’t want to.”

Lotor sent Shiro a sideways glance, sighing a little.  
“Shiro,” he began, almost chastising. “Have a little bit of a backbone. You’re being spineless and that won’t get you anywhere.”   
“Lotor,” Allura’s sharp voice came. “I’m talking with Takashi, not with you. Keep quiet so I can have a civil conversation. You brought him here to see me, you didn’t come to visit. You only do that once a millenia.”  
“And I wonder who made me feel unwelcome.”

 

Allura didn’t respond to that, instead moving over to Shiro and settling one hand upon his arm.   
“Tell me what you want to know and I will show you the memories.”

Shiro shot Lotor a sly sort of grin, a little too giddy that Allura had stuck up for him, before turning back to look at Allura before him.   
“I… I don’t know what I want to know, really,” he admitted after a moment or so, features growing a bit more serious as he furrowed his brow in thought. “I don’t know anything. Maybe… maybe just who I was? What I did. Maybe why I’m… why I couldn’t go to heaven.” 

Shiro reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck, offering the softest sort of laugh. “You're really going to show me my memories?” he asked, voice a little brighter than before. “That’s… that’s amazing, Allura- er. Miss Allura? Your Highness? I’ll just leave it at Your Highness.” He caught Lotor’s scowl in his peripheral, and shook his head a little, figuring he should stay focused. “This isn’t against the rules of the, like, universe or anything? Is the God Squad gonna get mad at you for this?”

Allura looked down at Shiro, a small smile on her lips.  
“I work on a different level entirely to both the… God Squad, as you called it, and the demons. I work alone. You will be able to do this without facing consequences. I will face no consequences, either-”  
“As you never do,” came Lotor’s murmur, but Allura chose to ignore it.  
“Come, take a seat, settle down. This shouldn’t do too much harm.” She lead Shiro by the arm to take him to the throne where she usually sat, making him settle down. Lotor came following him, even without Allura’s permission, and sat on the arm of the throne beside him. 

Allura turned her attention to the two of them, moving one hand to Shiro’s cheek, gently cupping it.   
“Close your eyes and lean back,” she coaxed softly. “I will give you the memories, but you must be calm and relaxed in order to accept them.”

Lotor sat up a little.  
“I’m missing memories too,” he told Allura. “Pieces here and there. If you wouldn’t mind, it would be greatly appreciated if-”  
“Of course,” Allura said, cutting him off without warning. “I will do the same for you but you’ve done this dance a few times now. I’m going to be paying more attention to Takashi to ensure that his transition into the memories will be smooth. You can surely handle any bumps, can’t you?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Good.”

Shiro watched the two of them for a second or so, trying not to snicker at the slightly comedic bickering presented before him for the sake of Lotor, leaning into the buzzing touch of Allura’s hand -- the magic from her fingertips much like the kind that Lotor had. He looked up at her from where she had settled him down, furrowing his brow a little. He couldn’t even begin to think of why she would help him — why she was being so gentle and so kind. Most of his confusion was dampened by the soothing magic of her presence, though, and Shiro felt his system relax as he settled back in her throne. Lotor beside him helped ease his nerves. If he wasn’t already leaning into Allura’s hand, he might have leaned into Lotor’s shoulder instead. 

“So I just… slip my eyes closed and everything comes back like that?” Shiro asked, smiling a little. “That seems almost too easy. There’s got to be some sort of catch, right?”

“No catch,” Allura promised. “I’ll be giving you all of the most important memories. I can’t show you all of them at the risk of overwhelming your brain but you will be able to see what you want clarity for. You’ll see what you did to earn your place in hell. I’m no trickster or villain, and there will be no twists or catch. Few want so badly that they’d come to this unfamiliar place. You are worthy of earning your memories.”

She moved back a little, straightening up, waiting for Shiro’s eyes to close before her own began to glow a soft blue, along with her marks. The power of it even made Lotor’s glow a soft pink again, making the angelic strength shine through again, even if only weakly. And within a moment, he would be reliving memories through his own eyes. Seeing what was stolen from him. Recollecting what he shouldn’t have lost. She pitied him, truly, as she pitied all demons for losing something so important to them. She would help if she could.

At first, Shiro didn't really seem to feel anything aside from the flush of her magic pouring over him -- running across his body as the waters of his stream back at the warehouse would run over the stones beneath the babbling creek. For a moment, Shiro’s mind began to dwell on the idea of water -- his whole system warming up with excitement and joy at the idea he might finally get to remember why it might have been so special… 

But as soon as the idea occured to him, he began to fall into a different memory. It was like the throne had been ripped from its place behind him, and Shiro had simply tumbled backwards -- the world around him still dark, despite the fact he couldn’t quite tell whether or not his eyes were closed. At first he struggled, not moving in the real world of course, but mentally grasping for the physical plane to escape whatever Allura had put him into, but more calming magic was pumped into his head and he relaxed again, letting himself fall into the memory Allura chose. 

His feet landed hard against solid ground -- sand. Dirt, maybe. But… they weren’t his feet. He couldn’t move them with his own will. They weren’t in his normal shoes. Instead of his black, shiny dress shoes and the pant legs of his trousers, Shiro… or whoever he was looking down at… worn sandals. Old styled sandals with straps that criss crossed up bare, muscular calves and ended just below the knee. Shiro tried to lift his head to look around at his surroundings, but whatever body he had been put in only seemed to want to look down. Down at the dirt and down at his sandaled feet. Down at his… his hands. Two of them -- both real. Both human. 

Both covered in what looked to be a slick glove of blood. 

There was a lot of blood, actually. Splattered about his legs. Dripping sluggishly from the crudely sharpened sword he held in his right hand. Baking across the sand under the hot sun that beat down against the back of Shiro’s neck, warming the sloppy cut of his choppy black hair. 

Shiro, without commanding himself to do it, seemed to grip tighter onto the sword as a sound swelled up around him. It was a loud, consuming sort of sound -- the world around him engulfed into what had to be one of the loudest cheers Shiro had ever heard. It was then it occured to him how loud everything had been. The sound of some sort of crowd finally bled past the shock. There was the grinding of old metal gears, the screeching of iron grating against iron. Whatever mass of people he had been standing before whooped another great cry, all the voices melding together to create a howl of sound that made Shiro want to shiver. 

Instead of shivering, however, Shiro’s body began to move. The sun glared into his eyes when he lifted his head, past his choppy black forelock as it fell across his forehead. He turned to duly investigate the sound of the metal, sweeping his gaze across what looked to be a giant pit, walled with great walls of squared brick -- as if Shiro was standing in the center of a colosseum of some sort. Some sort of gate, composed of iron and gleaming metal that twinkled in the harsh light of the sun, was rising upwards rather harshly, as though it was being cranked manually rather than by a machine. Shiro watched as a form emerged from the inky, candle-lighted darkness of whatever corridor had been behind the gates, adjusting his grip on his sword and turning his body around to completely face whatever it is that had been coming towards him. 

Whoever. Whoever had been coming towards him.

A man… no, a child, actually -- someone who looked as though his voice hadn’t even properly dropped yet -- stumbled out from the dusty corridor, gripping awkwardly to an axe that was too big for him. He was dressed in leather armor with the occasional metal plating, the same Shiro guessed he had been dressed in. The crowd seemed to explode at the sight of him, the sound enveloping the arena -- the cheers so loud they seemed to vibrate in the base of Shiro’s chest cavity. The kid seemed to cringe at the sound, but Shiro’s body barely even seemed to register it, just rolling his shoulders a bit in a sort of stretch as he adjusted his grip on the sword again. 

Shiro couldn’t help but notice how terrified the boy looked. How much he trembled and shivered, exposed in the open arena under the eyes of so many. How pale he had gotten at the sight of Shiro before him. How he shook his head and rose his hands to his ears when the crowd began to shout something -- something that just barely began to take shape as the thousands of voices molded together one single word in a bloodthirsty mantra. 

Champion.

Again, Shiro didn't seem to mind any of it. He seemed used to it. Numb. Accepting. 

His gaze traveled from the boy and up across the crowd, finally showing just how many people had showed up for the show of slaughter. Shiro swept his eyes about a never ending blur of people sat in the rows of chairs, searching for something. A box -- the royal stands. He found it, stare catching on the brilliant magenta of the banners than hung from the specialized seating. The best views in the house. He looked at a man dressed in nothing but the lavishest of clothing standing by the pillared barrier, leaning over the stone banister as he watched the Champion and his prey in the ring. Shiro watched him, waiting for something. Besides the man had been his family. A chillingly familiar woman with white, fussed hair and horrifically curious eyes, and another man.

This man was younger, but still grown -- maybe in his twenties or so. He was nothing short of ethereal, even if he had been just a man. Handsome, delicate features. Rich skin which contrasted rather beautifully against his long white hair, twisted into a simple braid which laid over his shoulder and against the deep royal colors of his outfit. 

This man was Lotor Sincline Daibazaal, but in life. But human. 

And he looked down at Shiro with nothing but a disinterested sort of disgust.

Shiro’s entire system sank with dread, every fiber of his being urging him to reach his hand out and call to him -- but Shiro’s body didn't seem to care about anything else but Emperor Zarkon. He watched the Emperor stand as still as he could, the entire arena waiting in bated breath for Zarkon to let the match begin. All it took was the simple nod of his head for the world to erupt into those shouts once more. 

He knew what had been coming. Shiro knew where it had all been leading to, even as his arm lifted to cross over his chest -- fist to his heard -- and even as a single phrase left his lips, lost beneath the sounds of the crowd. 

Vrepit Sa.

Shiro’s body turned around to face the boy again, his helpless system seizing up in a body he couldn’t control as Shiro began to walk forwards towards him -- the grip on his sword tighter than before. The boy had dropped his axe by then, hands held out before him, fingers splayed open and face contorted with horror as he tried to bargain or beg in a tongue that was long lost to the world. Shiro’s body kept moving. His arm kept raising the sword. Despite the way Shiro tried his hardest to stop, trapped and thrashing in his own body. In a history he couldn’t rewrite. 

There was nothing he could do. His sword was raised high over his head. The boy was cowering just before him. The crowd was screaming in his ears. Lotor still watched him from the stands, bored. No… not bored… disgusted. As if he’d been watching a bug scramble about in filth and blood and guts to survive.

Shiro could hear the boy screaming too, somehow louder than the crowd. But it didn't matter. He had no choice. No control. The least he could have done was give the boy a swift death. A swift death with an already sullied sword.

So he did, and the sword flashed in the sunlight as it struck. 

~~~

Shiro was falling again. Wrenched from the last memory and tumbling into another. Instead of landing on his feet before a crowd of millions, however, Shiro found himself on his back in a quiet, dark sort of place -- mostly alone. His mind was still spinning from the last memory and the harsh transition, but he supposed he didn't have much time to process. He could feel the blood from the previous fight crusting beneath his fingertips. He could hear the stampede of footsteps above him, the crowd leaving the colosseum after a day of bloodshed and guts. He could recognize the moaning of the injured and starving gladiators in the other cells around him. He could smell the plate of freshly roasted goose and baked bread that the guards had slid into his cell -- Zarkon’s reward for such a thrilling kill. Shiro could feel his stomach clench at the mouth watering scent of his dinner, but he didn't move to eat it. 

Years of fighting for the Emperor, and he still grew nauseous at the sight of someone’s insides splattered across the baking sand of the colosseum. He would have to wait for his stomach to settle before eating, ignoring the desperate pleads from the cells around him for a bite or a scrap. Zarkon had punished him for sharing last time -- he wouldn't try to do it again. 

Shiro’s head turned, eyes trailing up to the weak spot in the back wall of his cell. There was a moment or so of tired hesitation, but soon Shiro had pushed himself off of the dirt floor, brushing off the sand from his softer linen clothing that Zarkon would gift him after fights. He made his way over to the wall and leaned against it, tilting his head upwards to peer through the tiniest sliver of an opening. The night sky shimmed down at him through his small patch of freedom, nothing but a inky sea speckled with dancing stars, like the light reflected off the waves as they moved. He stood there for a while, watching them watch him back. 

A door clanged in the distance, and Shiro felt his body instinctively tense. He leapt away from the window, spinning on his heel, hands curled into tight fists at his sides as he listened to the sounds of his fellow gladiators fade into nothing as footsteps tapped down the hall -- sounding like expensive boots rather than the normal clanking footsteps of the guards. Shiro frowned, sinking back down to the floor and crossing his legs, reaching out to drag his meal closer to him just incase it had been Zarkon, but the tread sounded a bit too dainty. 

Again, inside a body that wouldn't listen, Shiro felt his system freeze over in despair at the mere sight of Lotor. 

Outwardly, however, Shiro seemed to almost roll his eyes. He looked down, scowling into his full plate of food he didn't deserve. The prince’s footsteps made their way up to Shiro’s cell, and then they stopped there -- the man quiet as he waited for the gladiator to respond to him. As much as he wanted to, as much as Shiro begged and pleaded his body to look up and reach out for Lotor’s hand, to ask him what had been happening and why he had looked at him like that, Shiro didn't move. He didn't even dignify the man before him with a glance. 

Lotor leant against the bars, looking down at the Champion in his cage, treated like a winner but herded like cattle.  
“My father gives you his congratulations,” he said, sounding sincere for just a moment before it echoed through the walls of the cell and hit Shiro with a sudden wave of carelessness, of disgust. “He enjoyed watching you slaughter a helpless child and wants to show you his gratitude for a good show.” He pulled back a little, straightened up, and could be heard rustling through a bag that he’d had slung over his shoulder.

That caught Shiro’s attention. His head tipped up, fixing upon Lotor; who somehow still had that ethereal glow around him. He wore a tight suit with a white translucent kind of cape, attached to clasps around his wrists. It didn’t reach the floor, thankfully, as his shoes had already been muddied up with both dried and fresh blood, dirt, and mud. The suit he wore was similar to his father’s, but it was less dramatic, and it was done in lighter shades- white and purple instead of black and violet. He didn’t have that flick of short hair in his memories, though, all of his hair was slicked back and tied into a braid, much shorter now than it had been when they’d first met in the afterlife. This must have been years before he perished, then. He did look much younger here than he did usually.

 

The door, made of iron, was dragged open with a grating creak, and stopped with a loud clunk. Lotor took one step inside and thrust something out at Shiro, throwing it at his feet. A blanket- one made of some kind of animal fur, warm and comfortable. Incredibly soft.  
“He ordered me to come here and give you that.” But Lotor’s bitter voice almost made him want to return the gift out of spite. “And he wants you to eat. You have a big fight tomorrow, where you’ll be entertaining some of his guests privately with your… talent.”

No response came from Shiro. Lotor didn’t move.  
“Salute to me,” he ordered, his voice a little bit of a hiss now, though it seemed distorted- as if it didn’t belong to Lotor at all. In fact, Shiro couldn’t recall if he’d ever heard Lotor speak with such disgust but in this situation, in this memory, it was so real. Allura had promised to show him his memories, so was this what Lotor had been like in life? Evidently, though, memory-Shiro didn’t salute quick enough for Lotor and just as the door clunked shut, locking with loud clangs, he could be heard shouting for Shiro to salute to him as the memory began to fade away, transitioning into another.

 

~~~

Shiro fell through more and more memories. Memories of the fights in the colosseum. Memories of Zarkon’s parties and gatherings where Shiro was showed off like some sort of prized racing horse, shackled in the finest of silver and golden chains. Memories of his helpless path to hell, a steady course of murder and killing that would never diverge or stray from its path -- a course engraved in the very stone of history. Shiro watched himself fight. He watched himself kill. He watched how the audience would always whoop and cry whenever Shiro’s sword would fall into the throat of his prey. He watched Zarkon praise him for his murder and punish him for any sort of defiance. He watched Honerva observe him as though he’d been some sort of project to her. 

He watched Lotor sneer at him during every match. 

He watched Lotor do nothing to help him. 

Shiro’s final memory had to have been the tenth one, maybe. Perhaps the eleventh. He had stopped keeping track around the third body he had split in two, just as he had stopped struggling against the inevitable actions of his past. It began in the colosseum, as most of his horrid memories had, but unlike the others… Shiro felt something terrible stirring in his stomach. Fear. Anger. Heartache. It was so heart wrenchingly different from the previous numbness that would settle over his past body upon entering the arena -- so much so, it almost seemed to hurt as Shiro stood there, eyes on his feet, the sun beating down on the back of his neck, his sword held in his hand…

His left hand instead of his right. Shiro’s right hand glittered, but not from the steel of his sword. It was from the metallic plates of a prosthetic arm -- he must have lost his arm a few fights ago, somewhere in between the last memory he had experienced and then. 

On top of all of the strange differences to that memory, Shiro could feel something off about his consciousness in general. The scenes before him felt struggled and choppy -- bumpy, as Allura had described it earlier. First Shiro was looking at his feet, and then in a flash he was looking up at Zarkon, vision almost tunneled with blur. He could feel magic retracting from his head and his system, as if Allura was either pulling away her hands to simply losing steam -- the feeling alerted Shiro. Another flash and Zarkon was nodding his head. The next one, Shiro was turning around to face his competitor, who stood before him in glittering, heavy-set armor that put his own leathers and rusty steel to shame.

He didn't even have to look at the man’s face to realize who he had been. He didn't have to look at the white hair tied up into a bun over his head. He didn't have to look at the grimace curled into the man’s lips. He didn't have to look at the eyes Shiro had become oh so familiar with… eyes that were twisted and distorted into something ugly. Something to hate. 

Shiro didn't have time to look at Lotor anyways. 

The memory was growing choppier, flashier -- stuttering and bumping. First Shiro had been charging and then weapons had met. Next Shiro was unarmed and a fuzzy vision of Lotor stood over him, looking like something imaginary with all the sunlight sparkling on his impossibly shined armor. Next was the roar of the crowd as the prince raised his sword up high over his head. Next was the nearly nightmarish smile twisted up Lotor’s lips as he peered down at Shiro -- the hatred and malice nearly unreal in his eyes. Unthinkable. 

Next, Shiro’s past body had snapped his eyes shut. 

And then next, Shiro awoke with a gasp in Allura’s throne. 

He sat bolt upright, haggard breaths tearing in and out of his lips and his lungs, his whole body alive with trembles. Shiro didn't know how long he had been in his past for -- it might have been minutes. It might have been days. A sheen layer of sweat coated his brow, skin crawling with the chill of it all as it cooled. His eyes were wide and unfocused as reality attempted to catch up with him, only one real image projected into his mind. Lotor’s sinister smile as he went for the kill. As he finally took care of the filth he couldn’t help but sneer down at every time they would meet. 

A hand settled on Shiro’s shoulder, and he reeled away on instinct, leaping up from the chair and spinning around -- eyes flashing, teeth and claws bared as he faced the unfazed Allura. He tried not to let his eyes fall on Lotor, who was still asleep against Allura’s throne while he relived his own memories, but it was useless. Shiro saw him, and the fear inspired anger that had been brewing up in his system ever since he had woken up only raged further -- crackling like flame. If it wasn’t for the serene sort of magic Allura’s presence possessed, Shiro was sure he might have gone feral from just the shock of all that he had seen alone. 

He watched Allura part her lips to speak, but Shiro cut her off -- too disheveled to remember his manners from before.   
“What… what the hell?” he snapped, breathless. Shiro had to consciously keep his head turned away from the throne, focusing on Allura as she slowly stepped closer. He couldn’t look at Lotor. He couldn’t even think about him, otherwise the anger and the betrayal would simply claw its way out of his chest like some wild animal and kill him itself. “That’s what you had to show me? Why didn't you warn me?” 

Allura watched him, raising one hand to silence him in case he dared try and ask any more questions.  
“I don’t survey the memories before I give them, otherwise I would have been driven mad with the various lives I would have seen. Whatever you saw, whatever trauma it was, I didn’t administer it with intent to hurt. I would have given you a warning if I’d known it was going to be this… upsetting.”

She reached out for him again, one hand settling on his shoulder. Lotor was still relaxed in place, eyes closed, simply not seeing such terrible memories- almost as if he had an entirely different perspective on things. Allura didn’t look at him for long.  
“If you wish to leave without Lotor, I’ll explain it to him. Please don’t feel pressured to take this up with him in your own time.” She then pulled her hand back, stepping aside as if to let him leave already. “Simply exit the temple and you will be taken back to where you call home. He will not be able to follow you- not for long, anyway. He won’t wake up for a while and I will keep him distracted for long enough for you to get away from wherever he might be able to find you. Don’t stay anywhere he knows about for long.”

Shiro watched her for a few moments, huffing and puffing for breath, his hands trembly, his head spinning and whirling about as though it had been set on a skewed axis. He swallowed hard, stepping backwards, moving without thinking -- every nerve in his body alive like fire with his rising magic. If he left he’d surely go feral and waste all his magic for the next few days… but… but Shiro couldn’t find the mind to care. He flicked one last look to the throne. To Lotor’s peaceful features. Rage might have licked at his heart like flame, but something else seemed to pierce him at the sight. 

“Tell him to stay away from me,” Shiro spat through clenched rows of teeth. “I… I’ll kill him. I’ll rip him apart!” His voice cracked sharply as he snapped out his threats. Empty threats. Fueled by whatever mess of emotion had been brewing up inside of him, alongside the influx of dark, chaotic magic, fueled by his instability. 

He turned, wiping his face clean of tears he didn't even realize he had been crying, storming off towards the large doorway of Allura’s temple and throwing the doors open. Shiro left in an instant, materializing into the mortal world in the field behind his warehouse. Without Allura’s magic as a buffer to his rage, it didn't take Shiro long to lose control. 

He was going to destroy anything he could get his hands on.


	23. Our last Life

Lotor sat on the balcony beside his father.

The summer sun was beating down on the area, making the already golden sands almost impossible to look at, and Lotor had to assume that he was lucky that his family had servants dragged around to fan them or provide them shade with handmade umbrellas, even if he’d rather not be here at all, much less to indulge in the use of slaves. He had previously attempted to dissuade his father from using them but, as was evident from the sheer amount of people ready to do whatever his father requested of them, he hadn’t succeeded in persuading his father away from the use of such slaves. 

And that wasn’t even touching upon what he thought of the use of criminals and poor people as gladiators for mere entertainment. His disgust for the sport that his father fuelled so heavily was what drove him to look down at the fight with disgust, with boredom. Hiding his shame and hatred with something that his father would simply mistake for disinterest. He hated the sport and he pitied everyone that was forced to die for nothing but a few minutes of entertainment for his bloodthirsty family.

But there he sat, watching anxiously as the Champion took on yet another opponent, nausea making his head swim when he noticed that this opponent was only a child.  
“Father,” he began, turning to look over at the emotionless man sat beside him. He acknowledged Lotor with nothing but a grumble, which was enough for Lotor to continue. “Why is there a child due to fight?”

No response came for a long few moments.  
“The child is a thief,” Zarkon’s voice came shortly, sharp, gravelly and cold as he got to his feet to signal for the fight to commence. “He stole bread from the market and was caught. He must be punished, as any criminal should be.”  
“The thief is a child!” Lotor objected still, glaring up at his father. “This isn’t punishment nor atonement. This is slaughter. This is murder!”

Zarkon gave the nod for the fight to start, not responding to Lotor’s indignant cries, and he was forced to watch as the cries grew louder, as the child grew panicked, and as the Champion ended his life. Another life lost to Zarkon’s bloodlust and selfish desire for entertainment. The life of a child lost in a heartbeat. And it would be safe to bet that Zarkon hadn’t even known the child’s name.

And his eyes fell on the arena again, disgust curling onto his lips at the sight of blood staining the sand, of a dead child, killed in the most merciful way possible by their Champion. And he got to his feet to turn and leave, turning away from his vile family to save himself from witnessing any further fights. He would save himself the sight of such bloodshed and mark another death for him to mourn for. The child, as far as he was aware, could have had no family, no friends, and nobody to mourn. So Lotor would take the burden of the death upon himself.

\---

“Champion.” The title never tasted right when it rolled off of Lotor’s tongue, but he hadn’t gotten his name from him yet and there was nothing else to call him. Not even when the use of that title seemed to make the Champion flinch. “My father gives his regards. He admired your fight today.”

Keeping his eyes on the hunched form of the Champion, Lotor pulled the door to the cell open. The smell of the rich food was mouthwatering but he couldn’t blame the Champion for not eating it. After such grizzly challenges and battles, he doubted that he would have the stomach for such things.

The Champion didn’t respond… which wasn’t exactly a surprise. It was rare he ever would, really. Unless it had been Zarkon, or maybe a guard with a club or a spiked whip they would hit him with if he acted too stubborn, the prized Galra not done fighter wouldn't acknowledge anyone who spoke to him. He simply kept his gaze locked down on his untouched plate of food, hoping the prince hadn’t noticed him staring outside from that hole in his cell. If the guards found out, they would block it up and tell Zarkon. If Zarkon found out, he would be punished. the Champion would be forced to fight a harder competitor in the arena, or suffer a beating from the guards. Perhaps a week or so without meals… but Zarkon hadn’t delivered such a punishment since the Champion’s big win against the tigers about a year or so earlier. It had been one of his best fights, spoken about to that day by the townspeople and the rich folk -- the Champion even got to keep the scars from every slash of one of those big cats’ large paws. 

He leaned down and reached for the roll of bread on his plate, choosing to eat to keep the prince from talking to him. His stomach still turned from the fight, and the blood of that child still crusted beneath his fingernails, but the Champion took a bite of the bread anyways. It wasn’t stiff or stale… fresh and fluffy, actually. Zarkon must have really enjoyed the fight. 

Lotor looked at him for a few more moments and followed his gaze, spotting that little hole in the wall. He pulled the door to the cell closed behind him with a clang and slid his bag from his shoulder, rummaging around in it to pull out the blanket he was to be gifted. He extended out his hand, offering it up.  
“On top of the dinner, he offers you this. Bear fur, I believe, after your successful fight a few nights ago. He was waiting for the opportunity to arise where you would deem yourself… worthy of it.” 

When he still wasn’t spoken to, and the blanket wasn’t taken, Lotor folded it up and set it down on the floor beside the Champion. He knelt down.  
“He treats you like an animal.” The words were softly spoken, but his tone was full of concern, guilt, even a hint of pity. If he were lucky, it would have gotten the Champion’s attention from the plate and the bread, which was steaming a little, having been put on the plate the second it was out of the oven. Quite the reward, compared to the scraps or the stale bread that he would normally have been given. A motivator, his father would have said. They were given ‘rewards’ as a dog would be given treats- to motivate them to behave the same way again. Slaving over the same dull routine of ‘sit’, ‘speak’, ‘kill’ for nothing but a warm meal and blanket. Nothing pleased his father as much as ruthless bloodshed, and the Champion was perfect at that. “He doesn’t even know your name, does he? Would…” he paused a moment, glancing at the dirty floor and his white suit but sitting down nonetheless, wanting to be on the Champion’s level- wanting to seem like less of a threat. “Would you mind telling me your name?”

The Champion flicked his eyes up at that, not quite meeting prince Lotor’s gaze, but not looking away from him either. He seemed to consider Lotor’s question a moment or so, swallowing the bite of bread he had been chewing on and setting it back down on the plate. 

“Why?” he asked, voice low. Gruff. Protective -- as if he had walled himself up with his own cool attitude. He shifted a little, a bit thrown off by the soft tones and warm stare from the royalty across from him. It was certainly a shock that Lotor had sat down on the dirty ground before him, the white suit of his fabric was likely already soiled. “So you can cheer my real name when I fight? I’m sorry, your highness, but I’d prefer to hear your father’s title shouted at me when I kill his criminals. There’s a reason I’ve kept my name so secret.” 

He knew there was no reason to speak with such a tight, defensive sort of temperament, but the Champion didn't seem to care. Sighing a little, he turned back to his plate and reached a hand down for the steaming goose, prying a strip of meat and roasted skin from its cooked body. He was never given silverware for rather obvious reasons, but he couldn’t help but feel his face grow a bit red at the idea of eating with his hands before such a prestigious person. It was embarrassing -- a clear blow to what little was left of his pride -- but the Champion ate anyways, waiting for Lotor to scold him for being so cold or simply leave him alone in his cell. 

Lotor studied him again, watching him as he ate, even noting the embarrassed blush that crept upon his cheeks. He didn’t comment, though. He didn’t mock or jeer or scoff or leave. He simply sat there, dirtying his clothes on the cell floor to talk with the Champion.  
“I’m curious,” he said. “As to what your name is. I wouldn’t use it against you, I don’t even know how I would manage to do that. I find that using a title like ‘Champion’, as much as it should be a good thing, is quite derogatory. You’re not just a prisoner, or just a source of entertainment. I could call you Champion if you would rather that over your real name, but I’d prefer to know your name, the same way that you know mine.”

He glanced to the food, pulling his bag from his shoulder again and pulling out silverware, wrapped up in a napkin, offering it to the Champion.  
“Eat with this,” he said after a few moments, acting as if he didn’t notice the way that the murmuring from the other prisoners fell quiet. Acting as if he wasn’t offering someone potentially dangerous a weapon. “Your hands are still stained with sand and blood, it would ruin such a good meal if you were to eat with them.” He didn’t seem upset, or threatened. He didn’t seem worried- even though the knife was sharp and the prongs of the fork also made it useful as a weapon. Surely, he supposed, if the Champion wanted him dead, he would have killed him with his bare hands. Bare hands that Lotor had seen kill wild animals and armed humans. 

But he also knew that Champion was smart. Smart enough not to give up his name, not to risk saying the wrong thing, not to show emotion in such a dangerous place. That made him smart enough not to attack a prince when guards were surrounding the cell.

His eyes had widened at the sight of the silverware, lips parting in a surprised sort of gape at the sight of the sharp metal. the Champion finally looked up into Lotor’s eyes, but only for a moment or so -- in search of some sort of fear or apprehension in the prince’s gaze. There wasn’t anything except that reckless sort of caring… maybe even a twinkle of blind trust. It made confusion bloom about like wildflowers in his chest, the sharp vines and tight tendrils causing him to look back to the floor rather quickly, that slight pink of blush once again warming his face. He took the silverware with careful hands, watching the corner of the corridor to make sure no guards had been watching him. 

The Champion started to cut away at his food, finding it a bit awkward after so many years of eating with his fingers. He kept a good eye on where the guards were stationed as he ate, wondering why Lotor watched him still. Was he waiting for a thank you of sorts? Maybe an answer for his previous question. Or perhaps it was just to ensure he would get his silverware back so that the Champion couldn’t use it to escape or kill another gladiator or even kill himself to get out of his slavery. 

“Why are you helping me?” the Champion asked after a few moments. He set the silverware down, lifting a hand to wipe his mouth. He flicked his eyes up and narrowed them. “You know what I could do with this fork and knife, right? You’re putting a lot of faith in someone you just watched fight and kill a child.”

He still didn't touch on the topic of his name. He just hoped the prince would drop it. 

Lotor studied him still, watching him as he began to eat and letting him adjust to using the cutlery again. He couldn’t imagine how long it had last been since he’d been able to eat in a civil manner.  
“I’m helping you because nobody else has since your arrival,” he answered calmly, his voice cool and confident, a little smile on his lips. “I know what you’re capable of doing and I know what you have done before. I know exactly what you do every single day of your life. I watched you murder a child, yes, but I watched you give a helpless child a merciful death. I don’t hate you for doing what you had to, I hate my father for putting a child in that position. A candle burns in my room to mourn the lost soul- as I do after every fight I witness. A routine that isn’t much, but should show the spirits safely to heaven, where they belong.”

He glanced to the door, a paranoid habit, but no guards were close. Close enough to come if he yelled, of course, but not close enough to watch or to pry. He paid them handsomely to make sure that they weren’t going to be listening in or holding him accountable for anything that he was doing.   
“I would offer for you to keep the silverware, but I know what the guards would do if they found it with you or in your cell so please, return them when you’re finished. I’ll bring it again tomorrow if you’d like. Is there anything else that you want? I can’t promise to bring you everything but the least I can do is make you more comfortable after… such difficult work.”

His eyes fixed back on the Champion after a few seconds.  
“I’ll assume that I’m not getting your name, then? Not even a nickname? I can’t keep calling you Champion, I can’t imagine that it’s very pleasant for you to be known by that name.”

The Champion watched him, once again feeling his confusion swell in his system in the strangest of ways. A few moments passed, his jaw muscles pulsing as he clenched and unclenched his teeth out of habit. He settled his hand down on the plate, delicately tapping his fingers alongside the glass.   
“In my old life, my friends would call me Shiro,” Shiro said, feeling his nerves nearly recoil at the sound of his old name. It had been years since he had heard it outloud… the idea made a shiver crawl up his spine. He grabbed a piece of bread and took a bite to distract himself from the conversation, shoulders rising a bit in an unnerved sort of tension. When he spoke again, his grumbled voice was a bit slurred past the food in his mouth -- an unmannered sort of display he hoped would make Lotor go away. “But this does not make us friends. You can take your silverware, I can eat the rest of this with my hands.” 

He hesitated a long moment or so, the manners he had been raised with tugging at him. 

“Thank you.” Shiro’s voice softened a bit, but he still kept his eyes on the dusty ground. “You… may bring silverware tomorrow, if you’d like. And if it doesn’t bother your busy schedule, of course.”

Lotor seemed to light up a little, taking the silverware and wrapping it back up before it was slotted back into his bag.  
“Thank you,” he said softly. “I’m glad that I have permission to return, Shiro. And please, if you don’t want me around, say so- but the guards aren’t allowed to intervene on my conversations with people unless it’s urgent, and they won’t listen in. Anything said to or around me is something only you and I will be privy to.” He put his bag over his shoulder again. “Would you like to eat the rest of your meal alone? I wouldn’t mind if you told me to leave- I’ve intruded on enough of your time as it is. And please, use the blanket. It should be far warmer than the ones you already have.”

Lotor sent one more glance to the little gap in Shiro’s brick wall.  
“A few more good shows,” he promised softly, fixing him with a knowing little smile. “And I’ll convince my father to give you a window. A proper one. The blanket was my idea, too.”

Shiro tensed up a little, turning his head to look over his shoulder at the gap in the wall. He spun back around, eyes a bit wider than before. “Don’t tell him,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “He’ll take it away. It’s... it’s all I…” 

It’s all I have.

He trailed off, finally noticing the desperate quality of his voice, and exactly where his sentence had been going. He bit his lips, letting his body relax a bit, both hands raising to hold the opposite arms. 

“Don’t even mention it to the Emperor,” he muttered, voice gruff as it had been before. “I’m fine with what I have. It’s not worth the risk to lose.” Shiro gave a low sigh, and looked away, jaw muscles pulsing again. “I would like to eat the rest of my meal alone, please. I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow after my fight.” 

Lotor watched him a few moments, nodding.  
“Believe me,” he said. “My lips are sealed. There is plenty I’m hiding from my father already.” He got up, dusting off a little, as futile as the effort was, and unlocked the door, slowly making his way out of it. He could be heard giving small satchels of money to each of the guards by Shiro’s cell before he turned and left, giving Shiro one last glance and a slight wave as he left.

Disappearing out of sight as he went upstairs and returned to his room.

\---

Lotor didn’t visit Shiro the following day.

He came to the dungeons, but dashed right by Shiro’s cell without sending him more than a glance. He moved swiftly, clearly finding the situation to be urgent, and went directly toward where the victim of today’s fight was bleeding out upon a table, lying back and writhing in pain. His afflictions were one severed arm and an almost-severed foot. It would need to be amputated but he had to deal with the arm first, as the larger source of blood loss. He worked quick, impatient, wrapping up the bloodied wound with a practiced ease, as if he’d done this one thousand time before. As if he wasn’t saving a life, but wrapping up nothing but a scratch on his forearm. As if it were easy to him, just another factor of his busy schedule. He could just about be seen from Shiro’s cell, staining his hands and clothes with blood as he applied pressure to stem the bleeding.

Turning his attention to the foot, though, he held out his hand and waited until a sword was placed in his palm, aligning it a little above the ankle and slashing it off with one swift movement- again, practiced, this time about as easy as cutting vegetables on a chopping board. He ignored the screams that it derived, too, wrapping up the bloodied stump where a foot had been. There was muttering amongst the guards, talking about the situation and how close to death the victim seemed to be. Lotor didn’t seem to notice that even his white hair was stained with blood by then, and as he wiped the sweat from his brow he smeared red upon his skin.

But a few wounds and a great many bandages later, Lotor was pulling away, seemingly sated with his work. He’d given the man, who was still in agony, a few leaves of wild opium lettuce, which he carried around in case of this kind of an emergency to work as both a painkiller and a mild sedative. And now that the screaming had dulled down to quiet moans of pain, and now that there was no urgent healthcare needed, he could be heard murmuring softly to some of the guards, something about a routine, about a secret place and that he’d take care of everything from a certain point. 

That was when he pulled back, still stained with blood, and left the table to let the guards take the barely-surviving man through to another room. He straightened up, took a few moments to regain his composure, and cleaned off his hands with a cloth from his bag.

He turned back, looking over to Shiro’s cell, spotting the wide-eyed stare and gave him a small smile, a harmless and reassuring one, before he began approaching him.  
“Apologies,” he said as he arrived. “Give me a few moments to compose myself and I’ll come join you for dinner again.”

Shiro blinked, his head tilting to the side as he stared in awe the prince through the bars of his cell. He had watched him try to heal that man on the table -- the man Shiro had injured and sliced apart with his own hands. Zarkon had asked him for a show, so he had given one. All those screams of agony that man had let out when Shiro had cut the arm off his body had to have been audible over the roar of the crowd because the meal Shiro had gotten in reward was one of the best he had gotten yet. A full tray of slow roasted turkey with a side of potatoes and vegetables, along with an old goblet of expensive wine. 

He hadn’t touched one bite. 

“You still want to sit with me?” he asked, inawed and unconvinced. “After what I did? You’re covered in the blood of the man I dismembered.”

Lotor opened the door to the cell, letting it clunk closed behind him.  
“And you’re still blaming yourself for it?” he asked, frowning. “You’re forced to do this for your own survival and for decent food. I don’t blame you for what you do.” 

Lotor knelt on the floor opposite Shiro, pushing the tray a little closer to him and taking the silverware from his bag. He brought napkins themselves, setting them down on the edge of the tray.  
“My father has a rough fight for you tomorrow,” he said, diverting the conversation before Shiro could object and throw more blame on himself. “So you need to eat and rest. I’m only here to keep you company.” He glanced to the little hole in the wall again, smiling as he saw that it was still there. He didn’t want to take that away from Shiro. He could, somehow, bring it up to his father that Shiro might be more motivated to fight if he was able to rest properly- able to look out of the window to get fresh air, able to eat full meals daily, able to sleep on a more comfortable bed, but he was building up to it.

Perhaps, someday, he might even get Shiro out of this cell.

“Eat,” he urged. “For your own sake.” And because it was a slow agony trying to convince his father to give Shiro such large meals. The original proposition had simply been a turkey leg, or breast, with cheaper alcohol given only to give Shiro a buzz, to allow him to relax and waste the evening. Lotor had been the one to insist a fuller meal- for strength- and a better drink to give him a taste of what he could have daily if he fought well. He had a way with people, that was common knowledge by now, and his father was listening to him more and more on this topic. On others, he was still deemed uneducated or foolish, and when it came to battles overseas he was disregarded as ignorant, but not even arrogant Zarkon could deny that Lotor was better with people than he was.

So he was working slowly to get Shiro better things. Meals, blankets, etcetera. And he had to admit, even as terrible as Shiro looked, he seemed a little better rested.

Shiro stared at him a moment or so, wanting to argue, but he didn't quite have the conviction to do it. His gaze trailed down to the plate of food before him, hands reaching down to pick up the silverware from the napkin Lotor had brought him -- likely because he had to watch Shiro wipe his face with his hands and arms the day before. He poked his fork through one of the potatoes, lifting it up to his lips and blowing some of the steam from its surface. Shiro popped it into his mouth, trying not to seem so satisfied with the taste as he chewed and swallowed -- it was one of the first times since he had been captured by the Galra that he had anything so decorated in spices. 

“Do you know who it is I’m scheduled to fight?” Shiro asked, poking his fork about his plate once again. “The grand ball is just two weeks away -- the Emperor wants me to join the festivities. In shackles and as a trophy, of course, but I’m still attending. I figured that my fights would be easier until then. More children and petty thieves. To keep me pretty.” His voice grew a little darker as he went on, shoulders tensing up a bit. He shrugged it off, however, and turned back into his plate of food.

“It’s… not so much a who,” Lotor answered, keeping his eyes on Shiro. He’d already eaten so he wasn’t distracted by the food, but he was still a little envious that Shiro was given a better meal than he was. “You’re fighting a bear tomorrow. They plan on giving you a spear, of course, and a shield, but I believe that that’s it. With a little luck you could get a sword but the chances of that are unlikely. I figured that you’d appreciate a warning, though, as I’m often told who or what you’re supposed to fight before it happens.”

His eyes scanned the room, and he made a mental note not to watch the game, instead deciding that he was going to do something about the state of Shiro’s cell while he was out. He couldn’t do the same for the other prisoners, but none of them were quite as patient or as kind as Shiro was so it wasn’t any kind of a big deal. He would do nice things for Shiro if it meant that he could have some company- as delightful as his accomplices were, it sometimes seemed as if they appreciated each other’s company more than his. Not to mention Ezor and Zethrid growing ever closer, growing far more intimate than friends. 

But it was unimportant. Now he had Shiro, and if he were lucky, that wouldn’t change. This was the most pleasant company he’d had in quite some time.

The only sign that even hinted at Shiro’s concern was the slight tensing of his muscles, and maybe the stutter of his hand as he brought another slice of potato to his mouth, but other than that he seemed accustomed to the shock or the fear. Numbed. Shiro took his bite of food and leaned back a little as he chewed, shaking his head.

“I would say that animal fights are my least favorite, but I’m sure that would lose what little sympathy you have for me,” Shiro sighed, setting his fork down. Lotor had told him to eat, but he didn't think he could stomach it all of a sudden -- even if he had only really had two bites of his potatoes, and the meat was still making his mouth water behind his frowning lips. “How could a man despise killing animals more than killing his own kind? Perhaps because there is no honor in it. Killing a man who has my intelligence is one thing… but killing a beast? Just to have its body tossed into the river or its bones decorated in gold for the Emperor’s fireplace? There isn’t honor in anything I do, but killing an animal always seems to unsettle me more than killing a human.” 

He closed his eyes and tipped his head down, feeling the muscles pull in his neck and his shoulder. “Where I come from, nature is more important than man,” Shiro explained quietly. “I was told that spirits live in the animals. They live inside stones and plants and mountains and rivers. Even the smallest beetle has a soul worth protecting -- a soul humans have no right to claim. That’s another reason I prefer to fight humans, I suppose. Even if I can’t quite remember my parents faces, I’ll never forget their lessons.” 

Shiro looked up at Lotor, features a bit softened from his talk of his past. He furrowed his brow a bit, cocking his head.   
“If you know who I am to fight and when, do you know how many more matches until I’ve won my freedom?” he asked quietly. “I have been here for years. I have fought more matches than I can hope to count. Your father promises freedom to those who satisfy him… when do I get mine? I’ve done enough…” Shiro gaze trailed back over to that table where the dismembered man had been laying, and then to the blood staining Lotor’s sleeves and speckled about his face. “Haven’t I?”

That, aside from the issue with the dying man a few moments ago, was one of the first times that Lotor’s composure had cracked. It was the first time he’d faltered like that around Shiro, anyway, his stomach twisting a little.  
“I don’t,” he lied, deciding to choose his words cautiously here. “My father… he doesn’t share that information. Not with me, not with anybody. He’s very selective about who knows what and who doesn’t.”

 

His father may have been secretive, yes, and he may have chosen few to share important secrets with- a group that Lotor was not privy to- but this was a lie. His father’s promise of freedom was a lie, and if ever mentioned to him directly, his father would free their souls from their bodies. One little trick with a dagger or a sword would do it, or perhaps signing them up for a fight where they’re sure not to win. And Lotor knew that Shiro had one year at most before his father grew disinterested of the constant surviving, of the cheering for the Champion, of seeing the same face slaughter and splatter with blood as it did so.

“The lessons of your parents sound beautiful,” he said instead, diverting the conversation away from the topic of freedom, knowing that it would only inspire sadness and Lotor would only have to lie. “Their philosophies are far more respectable than the ones I’ve been raised with. Yet you said that you don’t remember your parents, and I give my condolences for that. It must be hard, though I might admit that I wish I could forget mine. My late mother was a wonderful woman, as I’ve learned from the studies she made, but my father…. I don’t think there was ever a time that he wasn’t the monster he is today.”

Shiro nodded a little, listening. He was discouraged after not getting answer to his previous question, but much like his concern for the fight, Shiro didn’t let it show. Instead, he reached back down for Lotor’s silverware, deciding he should eat a little faster so Lotor could have his fork and knife back.   
“If didn’t know, I wouldn’t have ever thought you were even related to him,” Shiro said, cutting a piece of the turkey’s leg off of the bone. “I’m sorry about your mother. I… I always assumed the Empress, the woman who always sits in the royal stands during my fights, was your mother. I’m glad she’s not though… I can’t imagine what it would be like. She comes to heal me sometimes with her magic — dark magic. There is something wrong with her soul.” 

Lotor didn’t say anything.

On that note, Shiro took his bite of turkey off of his fork. The meat seemed to melt in his mouth — the skin sizzled on his taste buds along with the savory juice from the bird’s fat and muscle. He couldn’t help the smile that quirked up at his lips, admittedly the first one he had ever shown around Lotor, and he quickly went for another bite. When the luxurious tastes got to his head, Shiro even reached for the goblet of wine and took a tentative sip. And then another, contented sip. It was sweet wine — the kind that warmed his chest. 

“Well, you don’t know when I will be freed, but do you know what Zarkon plans on gifting me when win tomorrow?” There was no ‘if I win’. Just a simple when. Shiro couldn’t afford denial or fear — a level headed confidence was the only thing he could focus his mind upon. Otherwise the terror would get to his head. He had the scars to prove why that would never end up well. “If he happens to ask you what you think it should be…” Shiro trailed of, gesturing the bird on his plate. “Another plate of this would work fine.” 

“Is that all that you want?” Lotor asked, glancing to the plate and then back to Shiro, frowning. As much as he admired the way that Shiro knew everything about his boundaries and what was realistic for him to gain, he wanted Shiro to be a little more aspirational. “I could try and persuade him to get you anything. Books, wine, pillows, if you name it I can start convincing him to give you it.”

He already knew Shiro would live. He knew Shiro was supposed to win every fight lined up for him, no matter the opponent, the task, anything. It didn’t matter who he was due to fight against, because he was supposed to win. He needed to win to be the prized trophy of Zarkon’s collection of fighters, so that Zarkon could boast about what Shiro had done and what he’d won. The most that Lotor could do to aid such an existence was to give Shiro whatever he could to make him more comfortable.

Shiro was still smiling — a light smile, barely a twitch of his lips of course, but still a smile. He shrugged his shoulders up a bit, taking another sip of his wine. “I don’t need anything too luxurious,” he assured, setting the goblet back down onto his tray of food. “Hopefully, if I keep my successful streak in the arena, I won’t be here much longer. I don’t like getting awarded for my murders, anyways. Eating the food your father gives me is hard enough… but if it tastes this good, then I can handle it a little better.”

He looked down at his hands, sighing a little. Shiro had managed to scrape off most of the crusted blood with his nails, but his skin was still stained pink, the blood stuck on his skin, as it always was.   
“Maybe… a proper washing basin. Something to get the blood off of my hands after fights. That would suffice, your highness.”

“Please,” Lotor said after a few moments, shaking his head. “Dont call me that. That’s my title, the same way that Champion is yours. I would much prefer it if you were to call me Lotor.” He smiled a little, as if to reassure Shiro that it was okay. It was grating to hear himself referred to with such titles- he was Prince, not emperor, and until he took the throne he would refrain from letting anybody talk to him as if he was anything but Lotor. Titles always did drive him insane, anyway. It was just another way to divide the people and assert imaginary dominance. 

“Just Lotor,” he said after a moment. “I don’t want to go by any title until I claim the throne.” Regardless, though, he finally addressed Shiro’s request for a washbasin. “I’ll be able to convince my father to get you one of those, though. It shouldn’t take too much persuasion- it’s a simple request and would only cost a couple of pennies to have installed.” That much was true, at least. His father would acknowledge the request, perhaps finding it a little strange, but would allow it without much thought. For his Champion, for the prized gladiator, it would be worth it. 

Shiro, having finally lost his smile, nodded again and began for another bite of food. “Of course, Lotor,” he said, feeling his skin crawl a bit at the idea of referring to his superior by just his name. Zarkon would have had him punished for that — the idea incited a primal sort of discomfort. “If that’s what you wish to be called, then I suppose I have to. It’s the least I can do. You’ve been so kind to me… for reasons I still don’t understand.”

He leaned up a bit, straightening out his posture and rolling his shoulders. Shiro had slipped back into his usual disposition — quiet, stoic voice, averted eyes, disinterested tone.   
“If you would like to leave, I can finish my meal with my hands,” he sighed, as he had done the day before. “I’m sure you want to clean yourself up. And I wouldn’t mind being alone to prepare myself for the upcoming battle. Thank you, again. For everything.”

Lotor looked up at him for a moment or so, smiling as he got to his feet.  
“I’ll return tomorrow,” he said, taking the cutlery back and wrapping it in a clean napkin before he began out of the cell, clicking the door shut behind him and looking over to where the table had been, where the man had been lying and writhing, and walked that way instead of leaving the dungeons, having more urgent matters than cleaning himself up.

\---

It had been a little over a week since Lotor’s emergency surgery and promise of getting Shiro a wash basin. The basin had since been installed, thankfully, and several times had Lotor done similar operations on people who came back from fights near death. He turned out to be far more medically adept than expected, giving people stitches and resetting broken bones, casting limbs, etcetera. He’d saved several lives, and all of them had been taken from the dungeons under Lotor’s orders and never seen since.

But tonight was the night of the party. A divine feast was to be held, one where Zarkon could boast about how good at cooking all of his staff was, about how good at fighting Shiro was, and about how good at ruling he was. All while Lotor would sit quietly to his side and eat as to not humiliate the family- if not just being discarded altogether so that he wouldn’t run the risk of stepping out of line in front of company.

Until then, though, he would be with his family. So he was obligated to dress nicely, in silken fabrics of white and lavender. He wore a tight white tunic, fitted over with a chestplate that bore the family crest down the centre, a belt fixed around his waist to hold his dagger and a few pouches of medicine- his essentials- that were hidden perfectly with the cape that he had fixed around his shoulders. It was black on the outside and lavender on the inside, already providing a stark contrast to the rest of his outfit, the collar decorated with amethyst and obsidian, fixed in place with a gold chain, supposed to unclasp under the left gemstone.

On top of that, he had his long hair tied up and pinned in a tight and elaborate braid. It had grown since the first time he’d spoken with Shiro, now reaching his lower back while braided and his thighs when loose. He had bathed and cleaned up that day, too, ensuring that he would look as presentable as possible to prevent humiliating his father anymore than he’d been told that he would. And, two books and some pencils tucked under his arm, Lotor began through the palace with his head held up high. He continued onwards to the main hall where the party was soon to begin, standing a little to the left of his father, more than a metre away for his own safety, sending a side glance to Shiro, who was stood beside Zarkon.

As Shiro had mentioned before in the cell, Zarkon had kept Shiro ‘pretty’ for the gathering — after his battle with the bear, his skills had been directed towards easier fights. Another child thief or some peasant who had spoken out against Zarkon’s name. The day before the party, Shiro was escorted from his cell and brought to the bathrooms. His hair was cut shorter, though with proper blades to keep his bangs and his sides from being so choppy. He was bathed properly for the first time in months — whenever the last party had been, at least. His skin was cleaned and his scars were all brandished. Zarkon had given him a rather slim outfit to show them all off, his chest and stomach exposed behind criss-crossing designs of little gold chains, accented with delicate gemstones that twinkled in the light of the bright torches that lined the dining hall. His shackles were also decorated with precious metals and gems, the cuffs that bound his arms and his ankles speckled with dazzling diamonds and things of the sort.

It made Shiro feel like nothing but a medal, standing stock still in his cool, uncomfortable chains beside Zarkon, forced to keep his features straight and stoic, gaze focused on the table full of food that only the rich would ever get to eat. He tried not to tense when one of Zarkon’s guests would comment on Shiro’s build or Shiro’s ferocity in his latest match. Every time the name Champion would leave one of their lips, he’d only let his jaw muscles pulse, his teeth a bit sore from all the times he had clenched them in one night.

Lotor didn’t look at him long enough to risk letting their eyes meet, though, soon having his focus fixed back on their surrounding area, guests beginning to funnel in. Rich, important people, friends, some of Zarkon’s inferiors, quite an intimidating crowd. There were a few irritatingly familiar faces- Sendak, Throk, Prorok- and some guests that Lotor was willing to converse with, people like Thace and Ulaz who were far more tolerable than the rest of their visitors. Regardless, though, Lotor expected this evening to be a miserable event. If he were lucky, he’d be able to slip away unnoticed after they’d eaten.

If he were luckier, he might be able to bring Shiro with him. 

Shiro didn't even bother looking at Lotor, even if he could feel the prince’s gaze fall on him whenever his father was busy or turned away. He couldn’t even imagine what Lotor must have thought of him, standing there with the loyalty of a dog, wrapped up in expensive chains and shackles. Shiro tried to keep his cheeks from heating at the humiliating display, fingernails digging deep into the palms of his hands. Every bark of laughter or snicker from a guest made a certain coil in his chest turn a bit tighter -- as if he felt that everyone in the room had been pointing and making fun of him. It was a pathetic kind of feeling. 

He supposed it would be ungrateful to say he hated Zarkon’s parties. As miserable and uncomfortable as he felt standing at Zarkon’s side like some prized beast, he couldn’t deny how nice it felt to finally be clean. To not smell of sweat or blood. To have his hair softer and fluffier, not matted by dried blood or grease. To be able to look down at his hands, shackles or no, and not see the stain of pink or the maroon line crusted beneath his fingernails. Even if Lotor had been judging him for looking so pathetic, Shiro felt a little better knowing that he could see him in a better sort of state than usual. All their evenings together in Shiro’s cell, Shiro was sure he must have smelled. He was sure he looked nothing less of horrid. At least then, Lotor could get a glimpse of the man Shiro was before he was forced into the life of violence. 

Shiro just didn't know why that made him feel a little better. 

It wasn’t for another few hours- perhaps three or four- that Lotor was able to stray from the more public areas to go side with Shiro. Everyone had eaten, even Shiro had been given a little something to eat, even if not much, and Lotor had been dismissed to return to his room so his father wouldn’t have to endure his company any longer. So, naturally, Lotor turned to Shiro and moved to stand beside him. 

“You look different,” he said, keeping his eyes ahead to survey the room around them, looking out cautiously for any sign of someone watching, for any sign that someone close to his father might be aware that he was talking privately to Shiro. “Much better. I like it.” He sent him a little glance when the room had been deemed safe, a small smile curling up onto his lips. “How are you enjoying the party? I expect you find it about as fun as I do.”

Shiro had started a bit when Lotor began speaking to him. He had been so focused on his own thoughts, he’d been a bit blinded to his surroundings. He hadn’t even noticed that Zarkon had walked off to go speak to some of the guests off by the far side of the room. Shiro only worried for a moment or so, figuring that if Zarkon wanted the Champion’s company, he would have just dragged him along by one of his chains, and then turned to face Lotor, eyes widening a little bit. 

“Your high-... Lotor. You shouldn’t be so close. If Zarkon sees…” Shiro trailed off, flicking his eyes back over to where he thought Zarkon had been standing. He seemed to be moving back into one of the corridors with a party of royal folk and nobles, boasting about the designs of his castle. Shiro watched him for a few more moments, and then turned back to Lotor, face gaining some color as he finally processed what Lotor had said to him. “I… I figured you would like the way I looked. Not that I cared about what you thought of me, of course. I… uh…” he was losing his words, cheeks growing warmer by the second. Shiro decided to disregard the topic all together to try and compost himself. “I’m enjoying the party. As much as I can, anyways. I don’t really have a choice. The Emperor told me I needed to be grateful -- it’s rare he lets me get so clean and presentable.”

Lotor glanced over once more, then looked around the room a little before stopping.  
“Follow me,” he said, starting toward the door, not waiting for an agreement and not checking over his shoulder to see if Shiro was actually following or not. He simply left the hall through the nearest door and waited for Shiro a safe distance away, beginning to figure out where he wanted to go and where he would take Shiro. This was no place for them- and they would have an hour at least before his father returned to the hall. That was more than enough time for Lotor to treat Shiro.

“When was the last time you left the palace?” he asked when the confused gladiator came through shortly after, looking to him and reaching out to run his fingers through Shiro’s newly cut hair, murmuring that he liked it like this but not loud enough for Shiro to hear him clearly. “I know a nice place nearby that we could go to. We’ll be back before my father even realises that we’re missing, so you don’t need to worry, but you need a break. You’re free to say no, but before you do, ask yourself when was the last time that you let yourself do something you wanted? And when do you think that you’ll get this opportunity again?”

Shiro was frozen in place, shivers darting down the flesh of his back at the touch of Lotor’s hand gently pushing through his hair. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so gentle with him -- it was always pushes or shoving. A flash of a sword in a fight or the crack of a whip when he was punished. It made his heart clench and his stomach turn, his face glowing with color by then. He didn't even notice how much Lotor’s touch had made him relax. He certainly didn't notice how obviously he had been leaning up into Lotor’s hand, eyes fluttering and going heavy lidded. 

He did know, however, that he would do anything to keep that touch intact. It didn't even matter if the idea of leaving the palace made his nerves sizzle with dread. All that mattered was Lotor before him, and the warm hand combing through his freshly washed hair. 

Shiro nodded slowly, clearing his throat a little and looking away in an embarrassed sort of haste. He didn't pull away, though.   
“If we’re fast,” he said, voice quiet. “And careful. I don’t want you getting in trouble, Lotor.” Shiro swallowed hard and looked down at himself, at the chains that connected his wrists and the shackles that connected his ankles. “I’m afraid I won’t be very mobile. I might slow us down. Is that alright? If it’s not we can just go back inside.” 

Lotor looked at him for a moment, judging the chains for a moment before he stepped forward, sweeping Shiro off of his feet in one swift movement, with almost shocking ease. Shiro gave out the slightest sort of yip of surprise, eyes flying open, but once he had completely recognized what had happened, Shiro slumped back into Lotor’s arm, blushing up a storm. Lotor didn’t seem fazed, though, beginning down a secluded corridor of the palace.  
“Mobility won’t be an issue,” Lotor said, smiling a little. “I’m letting you go outside to treat you whether you want me to or not.”

And, with that, Lotor was off. They were out of the palace within a minute or so, and out of palace grounds a few moments after that. Lotor seemed to know exactly where he wanted to go and how to get there, having memorised the location of every scenic spot within a few miles of the castle for when he wanted to get away. And, with Shiro in his arms, he happily lead them to the stream that Shiro always saw outside of the dungeon window. It was late evening, so the sun stretched out over the horizon and cast long shadows against the golden-orange light, the soft trickling of the stream and the chirping of birds sounding perfect layered over the rustling trees, and Lotor set Shiro down on the floor a little away from the riverbed. It was about two hundred metres around a corner from where Shiro normally got to look at it, so the castle wasn’t in sight at all and this would be somewhere entirely new for Lotor to admire. And Lotor took off his cloak, laying it down so that the black side would be on the floor and the lavender facing upright, gesturing for Shiro to sit. His cloak off, he was now able to reveal the bag that he had over his left shoulder, which had a variety of smuggled finger foods and a bottle of wine with two glasses for them to share.

It might have been showing that he’d been planning this all evening, since the idea first popped into his mind.

 

“Get comfy,” Lotor urged as he sat on the cape, showing Shiro that it was okay for them both to do so. “We have a picnic to share.”

Shiro, still a bit dazed from the journey there, blinked his eyes a little, lips parted into a speechless sort of gape. He looked around, feeling his breath catch at all of the nature surrounding them, reality finally catching up to him after the shock of being swept up like Lotor’s bride. Just a day or so ago he had been watching the exact scene from his cell through the crack in the wall… and then there he stood. In the middle of it all. Enveloped by the babbling sounds of the stream as it trickled overtop of the stones beneath its path. The sound of the bugs as they chittled and the whisper of the grasses of the fields as the wind worked its calm way through each blade. When he looked past the river and up to the horizon, he could see the sunset with both his eyes, rather than pinching one of them closed so he could properly see through that pitiful peep-hole he called a window. 

His breath catched at the sight of it all. At the sounds of it all. Hell, even the smells of it all. The fresh air, the springy water, the sweet smell of grass and rich dirt that wasn’t dried up or splattered with blood. After so many years of longing to be in such a spot of tranquility and peace, Shiro was finally there… and it seemed to overwhelm him with painstaking joy in that moment. 

He took a stumbling step back, the chain going taut between his ankles and tripping him. Shiro fell backwards, landing in the grass before the riverbed and to the side of Lotor’s blanket. He didn't even seem to notice the fall, shaking his head back and forth as his vision split with all the tears welling in his eyes. Shiro only managed to snap out of it when he noticed Lotor’s concerned sort of stare, his dignity overriding the feeling of freedom as he reached his bound hands up to wipe at his eyes. The sound of chains reminded him that he wasn’t, in fact, free. It helped the pounding of his heart settle down a bit. His breath iron out and the slight tremble of his hands settle. 

An odd feeling, really. Stifling his hopes and dreams with the sound of his chains to calm him down enough to speak. 

“Thank you,” Shiro muttered, voice a little shaky. He took his hands from his eyes and scooted over to Lotor’s makeshift picnic blanket, keeping his head turned away from the prince -- who was bathed in the golden-orange light of the setting sun -- as he settled himself beside him. He cleared his throat, gruffening up his voice a bit when he spoke again -- returning back to his normal tone. “What is it you brought to eat?”

Lotor set the picnic bag down between them and rummaged around a little. He set down the glasses and the bottle of wine- some expensive brand, far richer than the drinks Shiro had been getting, and then took out a small collection of snacks- mostly little starters, and food that had been left out for people to snack on after the main meal was over. There were sausage-things and pieces of bread with meat as a sort of half-sandwich and Lotor had even brought a platter of cheeses. He then dug out a small tray of desserts, mostly cakes but decorated with such precision and caution. They had been on display, after all, and every single dish served was supposed to impress.

Lotor flashed Shiro a mischievous little smile.  
“I brought what I could get my hands on,” he said, looking up at Shiro and gesturing to the assortment of foods he’d brought. He took the bottle and popped out the cork, pouring each of them a glass before putting it on a level part of the floor, picking up his glass and offering the other one to Shiro. “So please, dig in. Drink however much you want. Eat as much as you want of everything. I brought it all for you to enjoy. I saw how you were eyeing up the table.”

Shiro swallowed hard and looked down at all the food Lotor had been setting out. For the first time since the two had properly met, Shiro didn't seem to hesitate reaching for something to eat, eagerly grabbing for one of the half sandwiches -- they had been the things Shiro found most appetizing when he had watched the rich-folk eat. He made quick work of the first one, ignoring Lotor’s grin as he reached for another, licking his lips to keep the flavor before the next bite. 

He waited until his mouth had been cleared to speak again -- maybe four half sandwiches later.   
“Thank you. Again,” he said, taking his wine glass to his lips and draining a long, delectable sip. Shiro looked up from his glass and into Lotor’s bright eyes, lips once again curled into their rare smile. “No one has ever been so kind to me before… may I ask why? Why do you keep helping me?” 

Lotor’s eyes fixed upon him as he brought his own glass to his lips, sipping it, used to the taste of rich wine and rich food so he wasn’t too overwhelmed by this. He did love how Shiro reacted, though. It was cute to see how his eyes had widened at the sweet taste of wine, at the richness of the meats and cheeses and the flavours that he hadn’t tasted before.  
“Why?” Lotor echoed, mulling the question over and trying to figure out what would be the best way to answer. “Simply because you’re not a monster. You’re not the bloodthirsty creature that they make you out to be, or that the crowd forces you to be. You’re always alone, and when you’re not you have to slaughter your company. I suppose… I pitied you. Living such a life. I pitied you and I wanted to be there to aid you. I didn’t want you to be a monster. I didn’t want you to be this creature to keep away from, the way that everyone said that you were.”

He reached over, running his fingers through Shiro’s hair again, smiling delicately at him. “I wanted you to experience something new, but the only way to do that would have been to befriend you. In all honesty, the first time that I entered your cell, when I offered you the cutlery, I was scared. Not quite… fearful, I knew that you were too smart than to consider threatening me or to even lash out, but it’s as you said- I knew what you were capable of. I know what you’ve done. Yet, still, I offered and you accepted and you didn’t do anything stupid. That was when I decided that I wanted to come back, when I realised the rumours around you were untrue.”

His eyes turned to his glass as he sloshed the wine around, watching it as it threatened to spill over the more he moved it.   
“But I know what it’s like to be treated like that, too. With a father like mine, everyone assumes I’m equally as vile. That I’m a monster, or growing up to be one. Nobody expects me to hate my father, or to want to be better than him, or… or to have plans that… that could be incredibly foolish.” He took a long sip of his wine, but he wasn’t done talking yet. He just needed a moment to recompose himself and the wine helped soothe his nerves. “Besides,” he prepared himself to say what he planned on saying, well aware that trusting Shiro with this information could be a mistake but he knew more of Shiro than Shiro knew of him. “It’s hard to love someone whose been beating you for as long as you can remember. I have memories as far back as being five years old and…”

He stopped talking, letting Shiro’s imagination fill in the blanks. It wouldn’t be that difficult to figure out what he’d been talking about, anyway. It wouldn’t be hard to think of Zarkon and the damage he could have done to a child so young and frail. Lotor’s eyes fixed on his glass again.  
“Believe me when I tell you that I have scars that could make yours seem like scratches.”

Shiro watched him with round eyes, hanging on each word. Though when he was done, Shiro didn’t quite know what to say. He trailed his eyes along the visible stretch of Lotor’s skin, his guilty curiosity fueled by Lotor’s last phrase. He didn’t see any scars… he supposed Lotor must have hidden them. Which made sense, of course. If Shiro could hide his, he would have too. 

“I… I’m sorry,” he murmured quietly, not know what else to say. He hadn’t had a lot of practice speaking to people in the last few years — let alone consoling or comforting those who need help. So Shiro just scooted a little closer to him on the picnic blanket, hoping his presence could be of any comfort. “You… you don’t need to love him just because he’s your father. He needs to earn your love. I don’t think I could ever love a man like him… but I suppose that isn’t much coming from me. I’m not someone who loves another so easily.

Shiro took another sip of his wine, and turned to look at the stream. The colors of the sunset danced across the ripples of the water, bouncing and flashing like fire. A flame composed of light and water… the thought made Shiro’s lips quirk up in that smile again. He pointed to it, turning to look at Lotor with a soft sort of gaze. 

“Do you see how the light from the sunset reflects from the water? The orange light almost makes it look like fire,” he said, watching Lotor cock his head and lift his brow. “It’s proof that you don’t have to be what you come from. A dancing flame can come from a trickling stream. You can be whoever you want coming from a man like Zarkon.” For the first time since they had properly met, Shiro seemed to laugh. “If that makes any sense. I’m sorry if it doesn’t. I don’t get much practice talking to others — I think all the solitude might have made me mad.”

Lotor smiled fondly, but he didn’t respond, lingering in the moment and letting the words settle in his fluttering chest instead of ruining it with some comment. He just listened, letting the sweet and genuine lilt in Shiro’s voice carry him, relaxing as he heard the reassurances given to him by someone who had never been quite so excited before. Nor quite so happy. It was refreshing to see him behaving this way, instead of making himself as small as possible and falling into apathy as a defense mechanism.

Shiro laughed again, a soft, delicate kind of chuckle, and brought his wine back up to his lips. It was already getting to him — he had never been much of a drinker, even before he was captured. The years of nothing but sips of water and table scraps alongside the occasional meal for his fights had ruined his tolerance further. It didn’t help that the wine he was drinking had been some of the best in the country. He could get a bit tipsy off one hearty glass, really.

“So, you finally admit, you were afraid of me?” Shiro hummed, leaning back a little, closing his eyes to bask in the sounds and feelings of nature around him. He supposed that changing the subject would help with Lotor’s mood — it would help ease the atmosphere too. “You were very good at hiding it. I’ve memorized the look of fear that humans and animals both express — the look in their eyes. I didn’t even see a sparkle of it in yours, though.”

“You learn to hide your fear in an environment surrounded by threats,” Lotor answered, still toying with Shiro’s hair as his eyes flicked from the stream to the endearing man sat beside him. “And when I first met you, I was a little afraid but I was able to hide it. But yes, I admit it. I yield to you the information that I was afraid of you when first I met you.” He finally pulled his hand back from Shiro’s hair and settled it on the blanket between them. Shiro tried not to follow the touch as it left him, and instead looked out into the stream again, biting the inside of his cheek. 

“Are you enjoying this trip out?” he asked, a hopeful tint in his voice as he waited for an answer. He already knew that Shiro was enjoying it but he wanted to hear him saying it. He wanted to hear him talking about it, to confirm that it was as good as Lotor had hoped it was. He wasn’t sure what had compelled him to do something this reckless, this impulsive, but seeing the way Shiro smiled and the way he ate as if he’d never tasted anything so good… it all made this risk worth it.

Shiro made this risk worth it.

“Hm. I suppose it’s alright,” Shiro said, shrugging his shoulders a little. Upon Lotor’s furrowed brow and nervous glance, however, Shiro’s smirk widened a little. He tipped the wineglass up to his mouth and drained down another sip, licking his lips of the sweet taste before he spoke again. “It was a joke, prince Lotor. I haven’t enjoyed anything this much in… well… forever, really.”

He turned back to the stream, following up its trickling current as far as his eyes could reach. Shiro’s gaze landed upon a bird standing in the water, the kind with long legs and a thin, sharp beak. It’s feathers were white like snow against the orange glow of the stream and the grassy green backdrop of scenery. Shiro watched it for a short moment or so, head cocked and eyes wide and curious, but then he reached his hand up to point it out to Lotor. The chains pulled taut, however, with a sharp sort of sound, the snap of the metal cuff against his wrist painful enough to cause him to drop his wine glass. It landed on the blanket, so it did not shatter, but the last sip or so spilled across the white fabric of Lotor’s cape. Shiro, on impulse, reached to help, but again the chains proved to be a nuisance. He leaned back, flicking his apologetic stare up to Lotor.

“I’m so sorry your hi- I-I mean Lotor,” he said quickly, the primal instinct to fear his superiors kicking in at his mistake. “I didn’t mean to. I’m usually not this clumsy.”

Lotor laughed softly, looking down at Shiro and taking ahold of his hands.  
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said softly, reaching into his hair and taking a pin from it to use to pick the locks- something that he was quite adept at, for reasons unknown. “I suppose I should remove these to prevent it from happening again, though. It would only be fair.”

 

Pulling off the chains, Lotor smiled up at Shiro and put the pin onto his sleeve to keep track of it without fixing up his hair again. He set the glass upright but did nothing about the stain. Evidently it wasn’t an issue to him, instead he was concerned more about Shiro and stopping him from being so jittery over a harmless mistake. Lotor would get the stain out or invest in another cape, there was no harm to Shiro’s actions. Besides, he’d ordered this cape from a stall deep in the market in town and had been looking for an excuse to return- not to mention that he paid rather handsomely for the service and had been given a high quality cape for his money, and was looking forward to doing so again. He hadn’t visited the market in so long.

He poured another glass and offered it out to Shiro again. The kind smile stayed on his lips, the only way he knew of to show Shiro that he understood it was an accident and to give him a chance to recover. To let the anxiety fade from Shiro’s system as it seemed to be overwhelming him.  
“Relax,” he urged softly. “It was a mistake, it happens, and it won’t happen again. I’ll clean this when I get home and, worst case scenario, I’ll simply purchase another. You aren’t in trouble and you won’t face and form of punishment for this mistake.”

Shiro looked up at him, eyes initially wide. They softened a bit, however, at the smile Lotor had been showing him. He gently rubbed at the irritated skin of his wrists as Lotor poured him another glass, and then took it with a grateful sort of smile. “Oh,” he said, blushing a little. Shiro took the first sip of his new glass of wine, the taste instantly relaxing him. “Of course. Sorry for overreacting — I’m used to a much different reaction.”

He turned back to where the bird had been, and frowned to notice it had flown away — likely traveling further upstream to find more fish. Shiro sighed a little, and looked down into his glass, watching the liquid ripple as he tilted it a bit.   
“I was trying to point out a bird,” Shiro said, laughing a little. “I see him every now and then from my cell. He must have flown away though — must be skittish.” He started to turn back, some more words, all of which comfortable and relaxed thanks to the alcohol, ready on his tongue. However Shiro stopped when he realized just how close Lotor had been to him. Their shoulders were nearly touching — he could feel the warmth of Lotor’s presence oh so close to his own. 

Shiro blinked a little, losing his words. Had they been that close before? Maybe Lotor had scooted closer when Shiro had turned away. Or maybe it was Shiro who had moved, unconsciously. He seemed to be doing that right then — leaning closer, brow furrowed just gently as he studied the way the light graced over Lotor’s gentle skin. The sun had just barely sunk beneath the horizon, a strip of vibrant orange stretched across a canvas of soft purples that bled into the inky sky that already enveloped the east. That extravagant blend of color simply bathed Lotor in the most beautiful of lights. As if he couldn’t become any more ethereal. 

What was that feeling? The warmth that simply pooled in his chest cavity. That thawed and warmed his heart as if it meant to melt it — to pull and shape it like a blacksmith would melted iron. Shiro hadn’t ever really felt it before. Perhaps it was the wine? Or the atmosphere? Or the sound of the stream? Or maybe the glow of the Full Moon behind them as it finally overpowered the dying light of the sun?

“What is this? What I’m feeling?” Shiro asked aloud, his voice quiet as he continued to study the beauty of Lotor before him. “Did you put something in the wine?” 

He felt so… connected to him. It was a sensation he had been trying to suppress or ignore the past week or so they would meet with one another. The feeling reminded him of a lesson he’d been taught by his parents — something about how there was such a thing as a bond so powerful, even the gods couldn’t break their connection.

“What are you feeling?” he asked softly, his eyes fixed on Shiro, concern in his eyes even as they subtly flicked from Shiro’s gaze to his lips. Just for a moment. “I’ve not done anything to the wine- perhaps you’re just not used to the wine. It… it can be quite overwhelming the first time you try it.”

Shiro didn’t even hear what he had been saying. He only heard Lotor’s voice — the voice that had been soothing him after every match of the past week. The voice that would always tell him to eat to stay strong and to sleep well to stay focused and to be safe in the arena. They hadn’t known each other very long, but Shiro was suddenly very sure he could hold onto that voice forever... 

It had to be the wine — what he did next was something he didn’t think he could ever do with a sober mind. 

He leaned closer, and before he knew it, his forehead had touched Lotor’s and their noses had bumped. Their lips graced for an instant, and then Shiro pressed closer. Electricity sparkled, trailing all the way down the nerves of his face and skin. It left him dazed, as if he hadn’t lost all sense of rationality before. It wasn’t even until he felt Lotor’s breath hitch beneath him that he realized exactly what he had done.

That’s what snapped him out of it. 

Shiro tensed up, and pulled back quickly, his hand raising up to cover up his mouth as he turned his head away. A painful regret flushed throughout his system, causing him to snap his eyes shut tight in a cringe. He had to suffer in a long, stretching sort of silence as he groped for the words to say — but nothing came for a good, long while. All there had been was the bubbling of the stream. 

“My apologies,” he said, very quickly. Shiro was reverting back to his state of stoic loyalty, his defense mechanism taking over the buzz of the wine. “That was incredibly out of line. I’m not sure what came over me, sir — I-it won’t happen again, I promise.”

Lotor leant in, though, moving one hand slowly to Shiro’s cheek and running his other hand through Shiro’s hair still. He chose to ignore the redness of his cheeks or the way his lips tingled from where Shiro’s lips had brushed against his so tentatively, so impulsively. But he still leant in and, when Shiro’s hand pulled away from his mouth, he leant in and slowly brought their lips together, his eyes closing as he held onto him.   
“Don’t promise such things,” he said against his lips, leaning in and kissing him again, slowly, almost embarrassed by his own impatience for such treatment. “Don’t promise me anything like that. I… I’d love to have your lips on… on mine again…” he could feel his cheeks heating up more and more as he spoke but, nonetheless, he leant in and pressed his lips to Shiro’s once more.

Nothing felt as perfect as it did in just that moment.

He had to admit, though, nothing felt quite as good as that did. It was something about this- this delightfully dangerous choice- that felt more perfect than anything else. He knew he shouldn’t have done what he did. He knew it was foolish, selfish, and it was oh so destructive. It was like playing with fire- but the fire tingled through his whole body, burning through his cheeks and making his face flush a dark red. He couldn’t help himself from leaning a little closer, moving to close the distance between their bodies as he coaxed one hand through Shiro’s hair and let the other settle on his waist.

But he broke away after a moment, not pulling away from the touches and keeping his eyes on Shiro, worried that he’d done something wrong yet undeniably more tempted to bring their lips together again, tempted to push him to lie down and to kiss him again, deeper, to feel those lips on him and to feel the way his skin seemed to be electric with excitement, the way eagerness made his body tremble. Just wanting to make the most of the time they had, the way Shiro made him feel more alive than he ever had before.

They wouldn’t have much more time to share like this.

Shiro’s eyes were closed, his lips alit like fire, his skin simply buzzing wherever Lotor’s touch had graced him. It took him a moment or so to fall back into reality, his spirits and his heart up in the heavens -- the only place such a feeling of peace and love could come from, he was sure. Though he did end up coming to his senses, however, and fluttered his eyes open, feeling his face flush with red once he noticed how intently Lotor had been watching him. He blinked, and then he looked away, swallowing hard as he tried to keep himself from back away from the moment in his own embarrassment. 

“That was… nice,” he said, pinching his eyes closed in the lightest cringe at his dazed sort of tone. Shiro looked back, taking in a slow breath and holding a moment as he tried to rebuild his impulsive bravery. He had fought beasts with claws and gnashing teeth -- men twice his size with weapons longer than his arm and sharper than the finest steels he had ever seen in his entire career as a gladiator. How come he was so intimidated by nothing but a kiss? 

Maybe because it was his first kiss.

Shiro closed his fists a little tighter, trying to shoo the thought away with the prick of his fingernails against his palms. It was then he had realized that Lotor was holding him and that he hadn’t reciprocated the intimacy at all -- his arms were held rather stiffly at his sides, hands curled tight, shoulders drawn up a bit higher than normal. Shiro sighed a little and tried to relax, drawing up his hand to settle on Lotor’s hip with a tentative nervous sort of ease, as if he was afraid of hurting him. He was awkward and stiff as he brought his other hand up to Lotor’s head, blushing to the color of the wine as he let his fingers push back into Lotor’s hair and comb through towards more pins that held Lotor’s hair into that loose sort of braid. Some of Shiro’s nervous reluctance left him at the feeling of Lotor’s soft locks moving past his coarse fingertips, eyes lighting up a little with curiosity. 

“Your hair is so soft,” he said, inawed. Finally, some of his fear began to lessen, and Shiro leaned forwards for another kiss -- initiating it and then even deeping it on his own. As they kissed, both of Shiro’s hands worked through Lotor’s hair, pushing back into the pins and mindlessly slipping them out of place. He combed his fingers all the way Lotor’s hair until he had worked through the braids. When he spoke again, his voice was breathless as he panted out his words in between kisses. “When I win again, tell Zarkon to give me whatever makes your hair so soft.” Shiro laughed into Lotor’s lips, kissed him again, and then finished off his thought. “I can’t deny I’m a little envious.”

“I can begin persuading him,” Lotor had said, though as he pulled back he noted how low the sun had gotten over the horizon, how the once gold and amber sky was now tainted with a radiant mix of glorious purples, blues, and pinks as the night began to take over. “But… speaking of my father, we’re due back.” And he broke away despite how it pained him to do so, his heart clenching and almost forcing him to go right back to Shiro, to hold his hands, to brandish the money that he had stashed away on him and suggest that they leave. Both of them, there and then, never to return and never to face this life again.

But he holds his tongue just as the words are about to slip off.

A life like that was a fantasy, he had to remind himself. He was not to grant himself the luxuries of love, or of distance from his family. Even a week away could give reason for him to be revoked of his right to the throne and he couldn’t take that risk. Not after so long of doing everything he could to secure his place as the blood heir and the rightful air. A life like that, with Shiro, living far from here and safe, alone, without the burdens of a kingdom or of his luxuries or his expectations and inevitable disappointments. A life of being safe was a life he didn’t deserve, or couldn’t afford to let himself have. He was tempted to give Shiro money to leave, to have his freedom, and to turn and face the punishment that would inevitably come his way.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

For the first time in his life, he had something he wanted to be selfish for. He had something he wanted to keep. Couldn’t he afford to be selfish? Couldn’t he afford to let Shiro believe freedom would come in due time… just to stay with him? All he had to do was wait for his father’s demise and he would marry Shiro, give him freedom and destroy the colosseum. All he needed to do was wait for his opportunity to kill his father himself. No matter how long it took- he wanted to be the one to deliver the killing blow. He would wait an eternity if he had to.

“Come,” he said to Shiro, distracting himself from his thoughts. “We’ll leave the chains in my bag so that you can walk back, stretch your legs. I might ask my father to give you shoes so we can do this more often without you being barefoot.” And he brushed off, dusting his clothes down before clasping on his stained cloak and setting the bag over his shoulder, putting the chains in a few moments afterwards. “I would like to walk this with you. We can take our time- I’m quite reluctant to return.”

Shiro stood up, nodding a little as he brushed himself off too — a gentle smile quirking at his lips at the idea they would do something like that again. He let Lotor continue on forwards, hanging back a moment to bask in the world of nature around him one last time. Watching the stream trickle in the moonlight. Watching the stars twinkle above him against the pitch black of the sky. Listening to the night creatures as they called and chortled and chirped. Shiro took one last deep breath, told himself he’d see it all again some other day, and turned around — catching up to Lotor’s side on the path back. 

The wine made him a little dizzy. A little talkative, too. He was sure he was showing colors and shades of himself to Lotor that he would never show while completely sober. He spoke about the lessons his parents used to teach him, and then how he grew up to be a noble warrior for his land’s army. A young hero — his name, the one he still hadn’t properly told Lotor, caught like wildfire about his home country. He grew less enthusiastic when he got to the part about losing his final battle and getting captured by the Galra as a prisoner of war, of course, but it was still more than Shiro would ever say during their meetings while he ate. He told Lotor of the battle and how he lost and why. It was going to be one of his last before he retired home with his parents — he had left them to fight for his country so long ago he was beginning to forget the sounds of their voices — but Shiro never got the chance. It was why he was so desperate for freedom. He wanted to see them again with all his heart. 

It was nice to just talk. He had kept all those secrets of his past life in for so long. To tell someone about them… someone who listened with nothing but the finest attention… it was relieving almost. He supposed he should have had more wine to drink during his meals — maybe then he’d brew the courage up to give Lotor his real name. 

He wouldn’t tell him that night, though. 

Their conversation was cut short. 

Shiro was just getting to describing his old home country when he stopped dead in the path for what seemed to be no reason at all. When Lotor turned around, likely confused as to why the consistent sound of Shiro’s voice had cut to a stop, he found Shiro’s eyes wide and body tense. Shiro saw Lotor part his lips to ask what he had been doing or what was wrong, but Shiro held up a hand. His ears strained, listening for the sound his acute sense of hearing had picked up just moments before. They were close to the palace — he wanted to make sure it wasn’t chatter of the rich folk or the dancing of the ball room. 

It wasn’t any of that.

“Horses,” Shiro said very quietly. “I hear horses.” 

He looked up the path, all of the sparkle draining from his eyes as he seemed to spot something past Lotor and over the hill of the path. Shiro didn’t say what he saw, and instead began to shut down again — fold in on himself with his usual quiet sort of fear. His teeth clenched. His jaw muscles pulsed. Shiro stepped backwards, and looked down at himself, panic wild in his features as he realized he wasn’t wearing his chains. 

“Oh dear,” Shiro whispered, hands suddenly trembling. ”They're going to whip me for this. Or make me sleep in one of the pits. Or make me fight another tiger… damnit. They’re going to do all three — I… I shouldn’t have come…”

“Shiro?” Lotor asked, turning to look at him, settling one hand on his arm. “Calm down, you won’t- you shouldn’t worry about that, I won’t let anything happen, what’s this sudden panic for?”

Shiro didn’t answer. Verbally anyways. Instead he lifted a shaky hand to point down the pathway to the palace, eyes averted to the ground as the sounds of horses and the clinking of metal armor grew closer.

Lotor turned back to look at where Shiro pointed, seeing the oncoming carriage. His blood went cold, icy fear shooting through him as he recognised his father’s carriage. Evidently there had been an issue when Shiro had disappeared and they’d expected to need to force him back.

But Lotor wasn’t going to let him take the hit for their meeting. He wasn’t going to let Shiro be the one blamed for this.   
“Keep quiet and stand still, no matter what happens,” he ordered Shiro, his voice a little sharper than intended but, with his father rapidly approaching, he didn’t risk apologising for it. He just stood there, still, and waited for the carriage to falter to a stop beside him, seeing him with a stolen bottle of wine and a stolen gladiator. The door to the carriage damn near slammed open and Zarkon was soon stepping out of it, turning his attention to Shiro.

 

He took a step closer, almost ignoring Lotor entirely.   
“Champion,” he snarled out in a bone-chilling tone, almost making fear paralyse Lotor- just from the familiarity of such a malicious tone. Just because he always knew what came next. “First you leave your post and then you’re foolish enough to leave the palace? That alone deserves a whipping, but you removed your chains? You must miss the pit.” 

Shiro’s guesses were accurate, but Lotor knew the immediate consequences of his actions. His father was angry, and he wouldn’t return to an esteemed party full of rage. He needed to take it out on someone, somewhere, and so… he did. He drew back his fist, not seeming to mind that the gauntlet he wore with his armour would to thrice the damage intended, and pulled it back to strike Shiro.

Moving without thinking, Lotor threw himself in front of Shiro and took the hit instead, the impact hitting his jaw with where it would have it Shiro’s temple, and Lotor’s head snapped to the side with the impact. His father growled, seeing that the metal had sliced Lotor’s skin and was drawing thick dribbles of blood that oozed down the side of his face. He didn’t seem to care.

 

Shiro had snapped his eyes closed when Zarkon had raised his hand, and flinched heavily at the sound of sharp metal slamming against human flesh, but his system exploded with confusion at the lack of pain. When he opened his eyes, all he saw was Lotor before him and the familiar flash of splattered blood. Shiro’s eyes went wide with shock as the situation processed. 

Lotor… took the hit for him. No one had ever done anything like that for him before. Not even when he was a soldier in battle. 

There were a few moments where neither of them said anything, just Zarkon processing that Lotor had done such a thing while Lotor waited to be struck again. Though, when he realised that Zarkon was done, he straightened back up and fixed his father with a glare.  
“It was my fault,” he said, his voice heavy with the weight of his words. Even he knew of the consequences of this. “I wanted to leave and I wasn’t willing to risk going alone so I requested the company of the Champion. Even as he refused, I am his superior and I insisted that he came with me for my security. I removed his chains so he could defend me if there was an issue.”

The words settled for a few moments and Lotor almost began to regret them, but he could hear Shiro’s trembling breathing from behind him and that was enough to encourage him to stand by his words.

“Do you remember what happened the last time you were so foolish? The siege?” Zarkon began to hiss, his voice low and full of anger, disgust directed toward his son, hatred for his impulsive decisions, unaware that Lotor had planned this all evening and assuming that he’d done this when the idea had come to him. “I only lifted your ban on your birthday because I assumed, blindly, that you would have learned your lesson if you weren’t allowed to exit the castle for four years. I see now that I was wrong.”

“That was a different set of circumstances that you still refuse to see!” Lotor shouted, glaring up at his father. “I have told you time and time again that I did not choose to betray you nor my kingdom! I did not opt for so many to die! Would I have returned if I’d-” 

THWACK

Lotor took a moment to recover from the impact that had knocked him to the floor, one hand moving to his cheek where he’d been hit- where the armour that curled away from his knuckle in sharp spikes, designed for intimidation, had cut into his skin and left four deep cuts- one on his cheekbone, just a little below his eye. Blood ran down from them, mixing from one cut to the next and dripping down his cheek like red tears.

But Lotor was quick to get to his feet, standing with a slightly wider stance to hopefully catch himself if that happened again.   
“You always were such a disgrace,” Zarkon’s voice came, sharp and full of disgust. When Lotor was on his feet again, he grabbed him by the throat, holding so tightly that Lotor couldn’t even gasp in a wisp of breath, moving his hands to grip to his father’s wrists as if that would do anything to prevent this agony. “You will face your consequences for this as soon as my party is over. When the last guest leaves, to save me my dignity, I will have you whipped instead.”

He waited until Lotor gave a weak nod, vision going blurry and beginning to feel faint, before releasing him and entering his carriage. Lotor fell to his knees, gasping in air and coughing, one hand moving to his throat, tears welling up in his eyes as a reflex to the pain.  
“Champion, enter,” he ordered in a low hiss. “You will return with me and with your chains on.” 

Shiro was frozen, his limbs and his muscles locked as he looked down at Lotor on the ground. He wanted to help him, but he was too scared of Zarkon to move. He was too loyal — too brainwashed with intimidation. It only took another harsh snap from Zarkon to wrench him from his helpless daze, and Shiro had fallen back into his normal disposition. He straightened up and let his eyes trail down to his feet, posture stiff as he nodded his head. 

Zarkon’s perfect little soldier. 

“Of course, your highness,” he said quietly, starting towards the carriage. 

One of Zarkon’s guards chained him up again, the shackles cold and tight against his wrists and his ankles, and then shoved Shiro down onto the flooring of the carriage — leaving him to sit on his knees while he waited for Zarkon to clamber aboard as well. Shiro tried not to notice how stiff and uncomfortable Lotor had been when he settled beside his father. Then he tried to keep from tensing when Zarkon told him he’d be sleeping in the pit for the next week, even if Lotor had argued for his sake. 

They rode back to the palace, and Shiro was shackled to the arm of Zarkon’s throne for the remainder of the party to keep him from getting out again — on display for all of Zarkon’s remaining guests to observe. He didn’t look for Lotor. Shiro didn’t even know if he was still downstairs on the main floor for the party. All he knew was that Lotor wouldn’t want anything to do with him after that night. 

But… somehow he was proved wrong about a week later when Shiro had returned to his cell after his punishment. 

Lotor was there for dinner, a bright smile quirked up his split lips and a lovely sparkle in his eyes… behind the bruises, of course. 

~~~

The final memory that came… was splotchy. There were only moments, flashes, flickers of what happened and how.

It was the memory of his death, and Lotor hadn’t once been able to recall it clearly. Again and again, whenever it flashed by his eyes, all he saw was the sands of the colosseum, the box where he normally sat where his father would be grinning down at him with that ever-malicious smile, and the flash of a sword.

And Shiro’s face.

It was as if it just slipped through his finger like sand, a few grains still catching long enough for him to see them, to notice them, while the rest fell away and disappeared, fading. And he despised it.

But when he opened his eyes to see Allura and no sign of Shiro, he realised that he had bigger issues on his hands. He didn’t thank her for her service, as per usual, and instead got to his feet and took a few strides toward her, grabbing her by her forearm. She turned to look at him and her eyes narrowed into a glare but she didn’t try and pull her hand back.

 

“Where is Shiro?” he asked, irate, his voice full of anger and impatience. “He was supposed to wait here for me, we were meant to return together.”  
“Shiro left. He was disgusted with you and left, telling me he didn’t want to see you again. Telling me to pass on the message that if he sees you again, he’ll kill you. He’ll ‘tear you apart’, as he phrased it. He must have seen some truly horrible memories.”

Lotor growled.   
“He was my soulmate! This whole time, he was the thing missing from my memories! He was who I fell in love with after your betrayal-”

Allura tugged her arm free.  
“One more word on that and I will have you exiled from my temple!”   
“Tell me where Shiro went,” he demanded, his voice a little hiss, full of impatience and irritation. Allura grit her teeth but remained silent so Lotor took his chance to speak again. “Then tell me what you showed him that made him so disgusted with me.”

 

Allura looked up at him, fixing Lotor with another glare- before pausing, straightening up, and recomposing herself.  
“I showed him what he had to see.”  
“Elaborate.”  
“Did you expect to be allowed to love a demon? You, an ex-angel? It would have wreaked havoc on both ends of the spectrum, not to mention disturbing the humans who will have to face the backlash of the way it upsets the afterlife.”

Lotor watched her for a few moments before harnessing his energy and disappearing, going to find Shiro. 

He should have expected Allura to betray him again, but he didn’t expect her to ruin a relationship she wasn’t the least bit involved in.


	24. The Bugs And The Dirt

Shiro seemed to curl up a little tighter around the pillow grasped tightly in his arms , hands curled into tight fists as he pushed his face further into the plush fabric of his lumpy old pillow. Atlas whined at him, leaning forwards and nudging her snout into his neck -- pointing her cool nose into the sensitive space between Shiro’s jaw and his shoulder. Shiro just ignored her, and squeezed tighter onto his pillow, holding it so tight the stuffing look as though it could simply burst through the seams. He disregarded the hellhound with nothing but a growl. Shiro had been ignoring her ever since he had gotten back and collapsed down onto the bed -- maybe twenty or thirty minutes before.

The instant he had gotten back on Earth, coming home from Allura’s realm, he had slipped from his precarious perch of sanity and tumbled far into one of the worst rampages he had ever experienced. 

Shiro had gone feral. In his ferocity, he had taken out about half the town. The power had been leached from ever cable and every wall socket. Then the air had lost every little bit of its warmth as Shiro made his way down the street, using what little magic he had left in his system after the New Moon to obliterate each house he passed. To shake them from their foundations and watch as the wood paneling would splinter and snap outwards in an explosion of debris and shattered lumber. He completely destroyed about ten houses -- a whole line of them down one block. There were already four fatalities, six critically injured, and four stabilized patients admitted into the hospital. The town was blaming the destruction on a powerful tornado that somehow slipped past their scales or measures, but Shiro was sure those he had dealt with before knew better. Sure that Keith would know better and Lance would know better. 

He hoped Lance would know better. His house was one of the first ones Shiro destroyed. 

Atlas had forced him back home before he could finish off the town, however -- which was likely for the best. His feralness was draining with the quick loss of magic and power. By the time Shiro had appeared in the grimy room of his warehouse, surrounded by things that did nothing but remind him of Lotor, he’d been all but drained. Shiro’s legs had wobbled and then they buckled. He nearly passed out cold and fainted over the floor -- if it wasn’t for Atlas’s worried head form beneath Shiro’s arm, he would have likely smashed his face into the hard concrete of the ground. She had walked him over to the mattress, and he had fallen down on the pitiful thing, curling up into his current position. Curled around that pillow of his in a fetal sort of way, using the rest of his energy to strangle the pillow in his arms, eyes squeezed tight and prickling with tears. 

He didn't know why Atlas nudged him or why she insisted quietly from his conscious to stay awake. Shiro just wanted to drift off into a sleep that would last him another thousand years. To close his eyes and never open them for as long as he possibly could. It would keep him from feeling whatever that was that tore up his stomach and into his chest. That made his heart pierce hot with agony and his eyes clench even tighter against their buildup of tears.

Shiro hadn’t been that hurt in a very long time. 

Why? He couldn’t quite tell… not that he had the right mind to ponder it, anyways. It had to have been because he trusted Lotor that much. Because Lotor had been the first presence he had felt comfortable around in what had to be milenia. Because, in their short couple months of knowing each other, Shiro grew to believe the idea that Lotor cared about him. That he… the he cared about Lotor. 

He even might have started to love him a little. 

But Lotor had lied about everything. Lotor had kept the secrets of Shiro’s past locked away so he couldn’t muddle the beauty of his own. Lotor never cared about Shiro -- not in life and certainly not in death. He sat and watched as his father forced Shiro onto the path of Hell, and did nothing but sneer and roll his eyes as his own fate was paved towards Heaven. The more Shiro would think about it, the more his rage would twist his judgement. The more his heartache would poison his judgement. That was one of the proper qualities of a demon, after all…

And whose fault was it that Shiro was a demon?

Atlas nudged him again, and Shiro growled -- the sound threatening as it rumbled out from deep in his chest cavity and out past his lips. The Hellhound whined, huffed cool air into Shiro’s neck, and nudged him again. He didn't understand why she wouldn't just leave him alone. Why she wouldn't just comfort him and let him sleep. What did she know? Whose side was she really on? Shiro just grit his teeth and growled a little louder past his bared fangs, hoping he wouldn't have to speak up to get her off of his case. 

“Atlas?” came a whistling little call from the main hall, the voice painfully familiar and belonging to the one person Shiro didn’t want to see right now: Lotor. Lotor, who had arrived with unknown intent and called for Atlas instead of calling for Shiro. Lotor, who called for the Hellhound and encouraged her to jump up from the bed with Shiro, barking excitedly, and go bounding through to the entrance where he stood. He greeted her with pets and kisses, with scratches behind the ear, with sweet cooing and affection as best as he could give it before he asked where Shiro was.

And, as was expected, she led him directly through to the demon. The demon that had forced himself into a bedridden state with an excessive use of his power- one that Lotor would reprimand him for later.j

And Lotor’s eyes fell upon him, full of sadness that was easy to mistake for pity, and even easier to turn into a disgusted sort of pity with Shiro’s overly emotional mind.   
“Shiro,” Lotor said softly, his voice quiet and almost weak, as he pushed the door shut beside him to ensure that there would be no melodramatic hysterics and that Shiro wouldn’t just storm off. “We must talk. I’m sure that you came to a grim realisation during your visit to Allura’s temple and-”

“Get away from me,” Shiro muttered, cutting Lotor clean off. He had snapped open his eyes at the sound of Lotor’s voice calling Atlas away, his jaw clenched so tightly he felt as though his teeth and fangs could all snap and splinter. His tail flicked, twitching and curling up like a frightened cat’s would. Somehow, he was able to squeeze the pillow in his arms even tighter, the seams around the overly-stressed stuffing starting to strain. Any more of that, and it would surely pop. “Did Allura make it clear, or do I have to fucking spell it out for you? I don’t want anything to do with you. You’re a monster.”

He didn't even dignify Lotor’s reaction to what he has said with even a passing glance, his eyes trained forwards in an unfocused sort of glare towards the opposite wall. Whatever inkling of magic might have left in his system began to stir with his new emotion, taxing his weary muscles and weakened system.  
“Get away from me, or I’ll kill you. I swear, I’ll kill you.”

Lotor looked to him and knelt down, studying him carefully as he reached out, aware that Shiro was too weak to force him away. The back of his hand just barely brushed Shiro’s forehead.  
“You’re burning up,” he said after a moment. “You’ve overexerted yourself. Please, let me get you something to cool down.” He watched him, making a damp cloth appear in one hand and laying it over Shiro’s forehead despite the protests that he knew were coming. “Please, I know that Allura showed you something horrible but she refused to tell me what it was. If you were just to calm down, to relax, I’ll clear the whole matter up and we can go talk to Allura about it, okay?”

He looked at Shiro, settling on the bed beside him for a moment, just perching there to be a little closer to Shiro, wanting to ensure that he was okay, hoping that he would listen to his words instead of pushing him away again.

But with Shiro, there was no chance of that happening.

Shiro pulled his head away from Lotor’s touch, growling again, the sound much more menacing than before. He reached a trembly hand up towards his forehead, finally releasing his tight hold on the pillow, and grabbed a hold of that cloth, pulling it from his forehead and slumping back into the mattress at the exertion of so much energy. 

“As if you don’t already know what she showed me,” Shiro said, huffing a little -- his breath a little shallow. He finally wrenched his gaze up to meet Lotor’s, a wall of tears finally rising at the sight of him, muddling his burning eyes with the sparkle of water. “You knew all along. You just sat there and listened to me open up about… about how much it hurt to not know and you never said anything. But you were there!” 

The lights flickered. Shiro’s magic surged, and then the second it left he felt all the more weak. That didn't keep him from attempting to sit up, however -- it didn't keep him from trying to slip his elbow beneath his trembling body and push up from the creaking mattress.   
“You weren’t just there. You let it happen. You just let me kill those people. You let me kill for your entertainment, and then you looked at me like I was the monster!” Shiro’s voice was breaking, fat tears escaping from the corners of his eyes and trailing down his cheeks as he struggled to sit up. “You always thought I was a freak. In life and… and in death. You’ve been lying this whole time. You’ve been lying- agh!” 

Shiro’s arms gave out beneath him and he fell face first into a pathetic slump upon the mattress. He uttered out what seemed to be a mixture of a whimper and the starting gasp of a sob, but he held his breath to try and cut the rest of it off. Shiro tried to seem as strong as he could, but there was no use. He couldn’t even lift a hand to wipe his relentless flow of tears away.   
“I don’t want you here... don’t you get it?” Shiro whispered, breath shuddering in his chest. “Ever since you came into the picture, it’s been nothing but mess after mess. And now I know why… we always hated each other. You were disgusted with me in life and you pity me in death. You were the golden boy of your empire and I was nothing but bloodthirsty scum to you. And now you’re the high and mighty angel, and I’m just the bug you could pin beneath your fucking magnifying glass. Well I’m not buying your shit anymore, Lotor. As soon as I can get up, I’m going to rip you into pieces.” 

“Takashi, as much as you may hate me now, none of that is true,” he attempted to coax, being careful with how he spoke so his tone wouldn’t seem to impatient or too irritable. “I… I don’t even know where to start because not a single word of that is true. Please, just calm down. Calm down and breathe and listen to me and I’ll clear all of this up for you, please, but so don’t want my story to fall upon deaf ears.”

He thought to move one hand over to Shiro but faltered and stopped, thinking better of it. The surges of energy were only getting more powerful and one of these times it was going to do some damage. He wasn’t going to risk triggering some energy explosion because he refused to leave Shiro alone. 

“Please,” he said again, deciding that pleading was the safest choice for him. “Please, just listen to me. You trusted me before, surely you can do it again… I’m not going to use any magic, or use force, and I can give you more time if you’d like but… all I can do is plead. Please, listen. Please, trust me again. Is it so bad that that’s all I want from you right now?”

Shiro growled, another rush of his last magic shooting throughout his bloodstream. It filled him with strength — enough strength to reel backwards so he laid on his side. He raised his arm, balled his fist so tightly his sharp claws pierced his palm, and launched forwards a punch with every bit of trembling power that was left in his system. 

His fist landed with a pitiful sort of thump against Lotor’s chest. Lotor hadn’t even flinched. 

There was a long second of silence, only filled with Shiro’s harsh breathing, but then he let out a sob and slumped back down into the mattress, growling with anger and groaning with the sudden migraine that was splitting through his temples. When he looked back up at Lotor, eyes flaming despite all the tears that spilled from them, a thick trail of black blood trickled its sluggish way from his nose. As it had done all those weeks ago when he had summoned Lotor that sketchbook and collapsed. 

“How can I trust you again?” he asked through gritted teeth, shaking his head. “The… the fact you even mentioned using magic or force just proves you’ve been doing it all along! I knew it! You’re always using your powers to calm me or tr-trick me! You knew you had control of me in life and you just sought to have it again in death. That makes you more of a monster than I ever was!”

Shiro closed his eyes tightly, just letting the thoughts spill from his lips.

“And I knew it too! I knew you had this power over me but I just let you take control because I liked that you cared about me! I… I liked having someone who loved me... But you didn’t — you never have! No one ever will!” 

Shiro was building the magic and the strength to punch him again, even if the blood still streamed from his nostril. His fangs flashed in a snarl. His tail coiled in threat. All the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. All of the few markings he had were beginning to glow. It was almost like he meant to go feral again.

“Why do I have to be the monster, Lotor?” He was on the verge of shouting. “You and your family forced me to kill children! You… you’re the monster Lotor! Not me! I should have got to go to heaven! I… I shouldn’t have been the one to go to hell. It wasn’t me. It was never me! It was always you. You shouldn’t have ever gotten to be an angel! You should have been the one rotting in hell all this time, and God, I can’t wait until you finally do!” 

Lotor watched him, waiting a few moments. He was silent, frowning, averting his eyes shortly and rubbing his shoulder.  
“I…” he stood to straighten up, picking up Feathers and setting her down with him. Shiro squeezed his eyes shut tight, but he still pushed his face into Feather’s fur the moment she had laid close to him, ignoring Lotor as he continued to speak. “I’m going to give you a little while to calm down. Five minutes. Then I’ll return and I’ll tell you what Allura did and we can talk this out maturely, okay? But… you’re hysterical right now. You’re acting out. You just need to relax and breathe and… I’m not going to tell you anything until you’re willing to listen calmly. Please…” he faltered and trailed off before sighing.

He got to his feet and moved to leave their bedroom, leaving Feathers to look after Shiro and stepping outside just so he could get some fresh air. Shiro didn't stop him. He didn't even try to respond. He needed to breathe and Shiro did too- and if he had any luck, when he got back in there Shiro would be more willing to listen to him than he was just then. 

He decided that it would be better for them both if he didn’t comment on the way Shiro’s words stung and cut so deep. He didn’t want to comment on how the implication that he was a monster made his stomach churn and his head swim. He didn’t like the dizziness that suddenly filled his mind when the words finally processed. 

He was just hoping that that was the last he’d hear of Shiro’s sharp tongue and malicious words. 

The night air was cool outside the warehouse -- the world dark and quiet. It was late, the sun must have set long ago, exposing the blanket of twinkling stars Shiro would always drag Lotor up to see along with the white sliver of the third quarter moon. The light casted a ghastly pale glow over the grass, the reflections on their dewy blades shimmering as the faint breeze caressed along the field behind the warehouse where Lotor had stepped out. The breeze, normally comforting and fresh, was quite chilly that night. Whether it was the ferocity of the scene before or just the changing of the weather, the air seemed to have dropped a good few degrees. It was almost odd for that time of the year.

But… there was something else wrong with the picture. No. Not just something. Everything. The field behind Shiro’s warehouse was suddenly terribly… off. As if the world began spinning backwards on its axis. 

No crickets chirped. No nightbirds cooed. No bats fluttered. There was the normal sound of the wind winding through the forest trees, but the white noise of a whisper seemed nearly uncanny. Foreboding… almost. It was an eerie sort of feeling, one that would inspire chills from anyone. A human. An angel. Whatever was in between. It was a familiar sort of feeling however… one that took a moment or so to place a finger on…

Dark magic. Powerful dark magic. 

It had to have been whatever was left over form Shiro’s rampage. Perhaps the energy still clung to the air and moved along with the wind? It would fade. Of course, it would fade.

Of course. It was just Shiro’s magic. That, or Lotor’s overactive imagination, caused by the stress of their situation. It was nothing. It would fade. Of course-

A deep, disembodied voice, carried along with the wind, snapped Lotor from his reassuring thoughts.

“So this is the angel I was promised? You look far from angelic to me.”

Despite the way he tensed at the unfamiliar voice, Lotor refused to let his intimidation show and instead straightened his back to look out at the nothingness that mocked him. He’d spent enough time in unfamiliar or intimidating situations to know how to keep himself from showing his fear.

His eyes scanned the place, as if he’d be able to find the source of a voice that echoed around him.

“Is this the demon that Shiro works under?” he asked, cautious but not letting his hesitance show. That was the only possible answer- Shiro wouldn’t have just pawned him off to someone else or handed him over to any old demon that appeared. “Hiding yourself away? I didn’t expect someone Shiro said was so powerful to carry himself like a coward.”

He knew that, perhaps, this wasn’t the wisest choice of words but it wasn’t this strangers business whether or not he ‘looked’ like an angel.

There was a deep, grating sort of laughter, a soft giggle curling along with the wind. 

“You are bold, angel. I like you.” The voice was booming with bass, the soft rumble of a demonic purr rising up behind it. Unlike Shiro’s purrs, the new demon sounded more like a monster than a feline -- the purrs were like the soft clicks of a reptile preparing for the hunt rather than a cat getting a nice scratch behind the ears. “I have no doubt that this boldness is the reason Shiro hasn’t cashed you in? There’s no surprise in that. The ‘Black Paladin of Darkness’ has always been spineless…” the voice’s mocking tone trailed off in another chilling laugh. “Though I suppose I’m a bit biased . After all, I’m the one who ripped the spine out of him. Metaphorically, of course. Though I’m sure that would be an excellent punishment for keeping such a beautiful prize all to himself. I’ll take care of him when I’m completely done with you.” 

“Don’t speak so ill of him,” Lotor defended, still keeping up this unflappable demeanour despite how each and every word sent a chill through him. “Wouldn’t you do the same in his situation? Like a cat playing with a mouse?”

Sndak didn’t acknowledge his words. The wind changed. The atmosphere darkened. A cloud seemed to have passed over the moon, the ghastly glow blotted by shadow. The demon was still nowhere to be seen… but he was close. The air seemed to writhe in his presence as if it had been cringing at his simple grace. 

When the voice spoke again, it was, indeed, closer.

“Imagine my surprise upon hearing the news. Shiro caught an angel! Well, I was almost proud.” Another laugh. “I knew that he would be a bit selfish with you. Keep you. Drain your blood. Which I’m sure he did -- I can smell the bite marks and scars all over your arms. But then there was some chatter down my part of the grapevine that he was falling in love with you. Kissing you and pleasuring you. Things move fast if you’re a demon -- there’s no such thing as secrets for us, really. I knew a month or so after I was promised an angel that the rumors were true… I’ve just been waiting for the perfect time to strike. Shiro’s weak, but he’s smart in battle. He’s ruthless and strategic. I’d rather not fight him over his leftovers… so imagine my surprise upon hearing he’d gone feral and wasted all of his strength ripping apart the town he lives in? I’m sure he’s so weak he hasn’t even noticed my presence.” 

The demon was getting closer. Lotor couldn’t deny that the words he spoke surely had some truth to them. Shiro had been weak- likely too weak to fight, too weak to notice this change in the air. He’d be too distracted by his own suffering to realise if anything happened to Lotor.

The wind was getting louder. Carrying this demon’s voice along with it as he continued to speak. 

“I decided to do some research first, however. Who was this angel that managed to take advantage of Shiro? Well, I cannot deny I was a bit speechless to find out it had been you, Lotor. I knew I recognized the name from somewhere -- I am one of the few demons who gets to know about their past, afterall. Though looking at you now, I feel it all coming back to me. Even past all of your monstrous traits, I could recognize you miles away.”

The air before Lotor began to move. Swirl. Twist and contort like a silk veil -- building a form out of its previously gaseous state. A massive shape began to appear in front of Lotor. A creature built from solid muscle, dressed in a fine and rather tight glossy black suit. Fiery yellow eyes peered down at Lotor from a shadowed face, horns sprouting from his forehead and twisting inwards and upwards like a gazelle’s would. Large, tusk-like fangs glinted wetly in the starlight. His right arm was built from natural muscle, but his left had been composed of the same material Shiro’s synthetic arm had been made -- carrying the same beetle black exoskeleton until the bicep area, where bright magic seemed to tie the forearm and his shoulder together. He stood high over Lotor, peering down at him with hungry eyes and a familiar sort of grin. Achingly familiar. 

“Sendak.” A snide acknowledgement of the demon standing before him slid from Lotor’s lips before he’d even realised it.

“It is nice to see you, your highness. Your father will be pleased to finally see you again.” 

Perhaps there had been a moment or so of fear- of the same icy tendrils of terror that shot through him when he was alive and in Sendak’s presence, but once more Lotor did not allow it to faze him. The same way he had always done, as he could remember doing in life, he had straightened up and slackened his shoulders, holding his head high to look at the other- though now he had to, as the demon stared down at him from almost seven feet tall- perhaps eight and a half if he were to include the dangerous things upon his head. The way Sendak looked at him was the same as it had always been. That same predatory look in his eye, just waiting for Lotor to make a mistake that would earn him a beating. The impatience and malice woven into his smile- one that only graced his lips when he saw an opportunity to violence or spoke in the presence of his father. Or, perhaps, when bragging about his achievements with bloody stories of messy fights.

But Lotor stood his ground.

Too long had he been afraid of Sendak, of speaking out against him, of having his throne passed onto Sendak instead of being left to him in the case of a mistake. His father rarely ceased to warn him of the likeliness of his replacement- that it was only a matter of time, of carelessness, of spinelessness before he would be renounced as the prince and the heir to the empire to be exiled. That he would be sent out until he came back begging and pleading and obedient.

Too long had he let threats stop him.

“And who are you to call me monstrous?” he had asked, his voice powerful yet cold, empty, lacking the emotion and passion it always used to have when he argued with Sendak. “Who are you mock me for my horns when yours are so hideously coiled up above your head, when you strut around like you have authority over even the ground you walk on? Even worms would not obey you, Sendak. But, even if I despise the sight of you, I must admit it is nice to have something that hasn’t changed. You are every bit as ugly and as brutish as you were when we were alive.”

A rather bold move to make, Lotor took a step toward Sendak, studying him up and down with a grimace that never seemed to leave his lips in Sendak’s presence.  
“Enough about you, though, if you could handle not talking about yourself. How is the eternal damnation?”

Sendak barked out a laugh, his teeth bared in a dark sort of toothy grin, fangs still glistening. “It seems the afterlife has given you a backbone,” he hummed. There was the sound of chains with every little movement he made -- they were all curled around his forearms and about his neck and draped over his shoulders. Some were glowing red, the bonds he had tied to all the humans he had yet to corrupt. Some, however, were solid. Real -- at least as real as his clothes. They clinked when he laughed and when he tilted his head to the side. “You suggest that even worms would not obey me? Such a strange thing for you to say, considering your pathetic ‘soulmate’ still obeys me. I suppose that means you consider Shiro to be lesser than a worm… which isn’t a far fetched idea, I must say.” 

He started forwards in a slow, stalking sort of way, the chains clinking along with each step. “I can mock you for your horns, Lotor, because they are hideous,” he said, disgust oiling up his words. “Look at the way they turn -- those are no horns of a demon. You’re something else. A filthy half breed. Your smell is foul, and that’s not even factoring in the scent of Shiro. If you weren’t such a value to me, I wouldn't touch you with a twelve foot pole.”

“When haven’t I been considered some kind of a half-bred wretch?” Lotor asked, letting out a sharp little laugh. “Too Altean for the Galra, too Galra for anywhere else. Too passive for my home, too aggressive for anywhere else I could go. You’ll need to choose an original insult if you wish to offend, Sendak. I’ve only heard insults since I was a child.”

Lotor kept his eyes on Sendak as the demon, the creature, approached. He just kept his eyes on him, almost challenging him, almost daring him to continue approaching even if he knew he couldn’t quite kill Sendak if he tried.  
“Is there a reason you came?” he asked shortly, though, cutting through the tension and diverting it elsewhere, not wanting to continue on the path of malice and dig himself into a grave. Metaphorically, of course. “I can imagine that you didn’t come for malicious banter.”

“Oh, there is a reason I came here,” Sendak hummed, looking Lotor up and down. He brought one of his hands up, curling his fingers in some of the chains that draped over his chest, winding them around his index and middle in a lackadaisical sort of way. He had stopped moving forwards, standing just before Lotor -- so close he could look down at him. “Though I figured you would prefer some banter to stall the inevitable.” 

“I’m not a coward,” Lotor argued, defending himself from the way Sendak spoke to him, hating how he sounded so condescending. “Don’t waste your time with me, I have more important things to do and people to tend to.” His arms folded over his chest and he narrowed his eyes at Sendak. Challenging him with the glare that crossed his features. He was growing tired of the way that Sendak always seemed to treat him- so snobbish. So patronising. So disgusting, as Sendak had always been. Even when they were alive, even when they’d almost, almost brushed upon a relationship, Sendak had always looked down on him in one way or another for some reason. That was what drove Lotor away from him.

He couldn’t help but wonder, in times like these, if Sendak was still bitter about it- but the thoughts left quickly. He should have been focusing on more important things.

Sendak hadn’t replied to that. With words, anyways. He simply stared down at Lotor, his features souring a bit more than before, and then swiftly brought his synthetic arm over the opposite shoulder and struck downwards with all his might. He slapped Lotor across the face with a powerful backhand, whipping his head to the side with the mighty crack of the prosthetic against Lotor’s skin. Sendak waited for Lotor’s body to follow the snap of his head, watching him lose his balance and fall to the ground. He reached down to grab Lotor by the chin as he pushed up from the ground, wrenching his head upwards on his neck so their gazes could meet. Sendak gripped his face hard, his glossy claws digging deep and rather relentlessly into Lotor’s skin. 

“There is nothing and no one more important than me,” Sendak said darkly. “I am one of the most powerful creatures in this world. I get what I want. And now, your highness, I want you.”

A whimper very nearly escaped Lotor’s lips as he was held so tight, the cruel reality rapidly beginning to settle in and sending a chill through his body.   
“You already have my soul. Shiro said it wouldn’t matter if it was handed over immediately or not as long as you still had it owed to you. What else could you want from me?” He spat at Sendak’s feet, a vain effort to show his disgust, but it wasn’t noticed. In fact, had Sendak’s attention not been fixed solely on his jaw, Lotor wouldn’t have even realised what Sendak was so desperately staring at.

But then he felt the hot dribble of blood dripping from where the claws dug into him and panic began to set in as he realised. He knew that his blood was no longer that of an angel, but he also knew that demons could sometimes drain each other in an attempt to get the same buzz as angel’s blood and that as long as his had even a hint of it, he would be at risk. His eyes latched onto Sendak’s and he watched as his snake pupils, the thin slits of his eyes, grew thinner with a mix of intrigue and excitement. Lotor’s stomach dropped as if he’d just swallowed a stone.  
“Release me,” he ordered helplessly, well aware that the command wouldn’t have worked even if he’d managed to muster up the strongest voice he had, but he tried regardless. He didn’t want to have Sendak near him any longer.

He was suddenly wishing he’d never even taken Shiro to see Allura, knowing that without that Shiro would have stopped this before Sendak had even begun to speak to him- but he was helpless. He couldn’t do anything about it but hope that Sendak wasn’t going to drain him there and then.

Sendak showed no signs of hearing Lotor, but he did release his hand. He seemed to ignore the creature before him in favor of studying his claws, pupils still contracted as he brought the speckles of blood up to his nose to sniff. A moment later, he pressed his index finger to his tongue, eager to taste the exhilarating sensation of whatever had been pumping through Lotor’s bloodstream. 

It only took one drop to make his eyes flame with addiction. 

In an instant, Sendak had snatched Lotor’s wrist in his prosthetic hand and had wrenched him up to his feet. He slammed Lotor up against the outside wall of the warehouse, using his free hand to pin Lotor down by his chest as he brought his mouth up to the inside of Lotor’s arm. His fangs split the skin easily, sinking deep down into the fleshy muscle of Lotor’s arm -- so deep he nearly seemed to hit bone. Blood poured from his wrist -- it gushed. Spilling into Sendak’s mouth and against his tongue, igniting his taste buds and his senses. Lotor’s blood was nothing ordinary. It wasn’t the blood of an ordinary angel, and it certainly wasn’t the nauseating blood of an ordinary demon. The touch of it against Sendak’s skin and lips and tongue was like liquid electricity -- it made his head spin and his body flush with desire for more. It had the addictive quality of angel blood and then the strength of demon blood -- and then on top of that, it seemed to harbor its own unique quality. Something powerful. Something rare. Sendak didn't even notice how eagerly he had been drinking from Lotor’s arm. Hell, he had been damn-near gulping the stuff. 

It was only when Sendak felt something dart through his system that his rationality returned to him. Something crisp and clean and… terrifying. As though icy water had been shot through his own veins… not quite freezing his own demonic blood over but chilling him to his very core. Sendak didn't know what it had been or why such a sensation had seized him, but it passed the moment he had wrenched backwards from Lotor, his fangs ripping the skin and large chunks of his flesh out with the swift jerk of his head. 

Blood spurted from the wounds. Sendak had to snap his eyes closed and step backwards to keep from lunging for him again, releasing Lotor from the wall and letting him fall into a defeated heap against the ground. He was panting like a beast, feeling Lotor’s blood trail from his bottom lip and over his chin -- down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. As much as Sendak wanted to, he kept from licking it up, feeling the weak shivers that crawled up the flesh of his back from whatever that previous chill had been. 

It had to have come from Lotor. He would have to drain Lotor more carefully… in intervals of sorts. Too much of Lotor’s blood, and that icy feeling of… whatever that had been would surely return. 

Oh well. At least that meant Lotor would last longer. More blood to squeeze from him… more blood to profit on, perhaps.

“I apologize, your highness,” Sendak said sarcastically, calming his breath. He reached his hand up to his breast pocket and slipped out his handkerchief, taking it up to his chin and wiping away some of Lotor’s blood. “I seemed to have lost my head.” He looked down at Lotor, and offered a dark sort of smile, watching the blood gush from his arm. “You might want to cover that up. Wouldn't want to waste such a lovely treat.” 

Lotor had already begun to stifle the blood flow desperately, trying to stem the bleeding from where flesh had been torn from his skin.  
“You’re a monster,” he spat, his voice full of hatred and disgust as he applied more pressure to the wound, reflexive tears rolling down his cheeks from the stinging pain that shot up his arm, at how Sendak’s saliva on his skin stung like it was salt, how every little movement seemed to bring a whole new wave of pain, a whole new level of agony.

He put his weight on his arm, trembling as he bit down on his lip, closing his eyes to concentrate his fleeting energy into forcing a bandage around his arm, to stop the blood from flowing, to stop him from losing fatal amounts of blood. And, when satisfied, he was able to push the pain to the back of his mind and take a few breaths before focusing back on Sendak.  
“There. You’ve had your fill of whatever you wanted, you’ve beaten me, you’ve shown me that you’re just as much of a monster now as you were then. Happy? Then please, show yourself out and back to whichever pit of hell you crawled out of. I have some things that I need to do.”

“Oh, you have things you need to do, of course,” Sendak hummed, reaching down and snatching up Lotor’s upper arm in his hand. He wrenched him upwards, ignoring Lotor’s pitiful cry of pain. “Things you need to do for me. You are mine, after all. Shiro just hasn’t given you to me yet. I’m sure he won’t mind if I borrow you for a few centuries before your due date -- sharing is caring, after all.” 

He disregarded the way Lotor pulled and struggled against his grip, and instead began to gather the magic to teleport.   
“You’re going to love hell, Lotor. It’s very nice this time of year.”

Lotor looked up at him, eyes narrowing into a glare as he squirmed, almost thrashing to get away from Sendak even if his attempts were all in vain.  
“You’re going to pay for this,” he spat to Sendak, feeling the energy harness around him- full of a buzz that Lotor knew should have been his own, was from the blood that Sendak had drained from him with such insatiable greed. 

The magic, though, was too much. Feeling his own magic in the air, mingling with Sendak’s, so strong and so intoxicating- it made him weak, and dizzy, and for a few moments he struggled to keep himself upright. His fighting stopped and his legs crumpled beneath him just as they left earth altogether, drifting for a little while before Lotor felt the heat that began to prickle his skin, the feeling of rough stone underneath him as he collapsed to his knees. It was hot here, as all heaven had told him and rumoured about, but he heard no hellfire, no crackling, and when his eyes flickered open it wasn’t all a blinding red with only black tar for water fountains and rats for dinner, as the whispers told him.

He found himself in a home that he imagined to be Sendak’s- in a room that looked similar to a kitchen but with far too many malicious tools for it. With black tile flooring and sleek grey walls, with sharp knives and weapons with white handles or hilts. A slick, clean area with no agonised screaming to be heard.

Either Sendak lived a good life for a demon, hell wasn’t that bad, or he’d just been put in a secluded room so his screams wouldn’t mix with anyone else’s.

He was beginning to think it was a mix of all three.


	25. Most Familiar Of Swine

It was maybe a good week or so later when Shiro had finally woken up.

Maybe a little over a week. Almost two, actually. He had slept past the next three phases of the moon, including the Full Moon. It was one of the longest rests he had ever taken -- his longest having been three weeks after a particularly fun New Moon in the sixties. It was always rare he'd sleep so long. Atlas would wake him up, or the taste of his returning magic would -- it was normally one or the other. And then, of course, there was the fact Shiro wasn't usually so drained of power. Going feral twice in one month -- not counting the occasion of there being two New Moons in one month, of course -- was draining. Utterly so.

Shiro awoke to the sound of meows ringing in his ears. He had groaned, and turned his head away, scrunching his eyes tight as he pushed his face into the pillow. There was a pinch of needle sharp canines to his earlobe, one that caused him to start a bit, and then to whine. His senses slowly came to him as he reached one hand up to nurture his ear, and used the other to shove Feathers away, mumbling something about how biting was bad. Then Shiro slumped and relaxed, sighing as he curled a little closer to the mattress, wondering why Feathers was bothering him when she could be bothering Lotor instead.

And then it all came back to him.

His eyes snapped open and he pushed up, ignoring the way it made his head spin. Feathers jumped and puffed up her hair before sprinting away, running back behind one of the dressers. Atlas, who had been laying at the foot of Shiro's bed fast asleep, didn't even move. Shiro looked around rather quickly for Lotor, feeling a sense of dread at the idea he would have to face him after everything. If Shiro had any sense, the moment he saw Lotor he would snap at him and brew up another argument -- but he was already feeling too tired to fight and argue. His head ached and pounded as though he'd been hungover. His skin still sizzled with weak fever and his stomach still churned. Shiro was still a bit drunk on everything -- his system a bit sluggish from cashing in all his power in one night, All he wanted to do was make sure Lotor hadn't been in the room, then collapse back down onto the mattress and sleep.

Luckily, however, Lotor was nowhere in sight.

A smile quirked up Shiro's lips, and he gave a soft sigh, ignoring the guilty feeling that nipped and bit at his insides as he laid back down. He stretched out his limbs, uttering out a grunted kind of hum as he felt his tired joints pop and his weary muscles pull taut. Shiro settled his eyes closed, pulling up his legs to his chest and curling his tail up and around his body as he got comfortable, figuring he'd sleep off everything before even thinking about confronting Lotor again.

But that's when Shiro noticed the smell.

Why it had taken him so long to realize it, he didn't quite know. Maybe it had been his mind just needed to wake up some more? His senses? Whatever it had been, the smell of another demon hadn't exactly hit him until right then -- right at that very moment. The delay, of course, made it feel like a clear slap in the face. Shiro, for the second time, snapped his eyes open, and then nearly jumped to his feet -- scrambling awkwardly from the mattress and then standing straight, head a little woozy at the change. That had been what finally alerted Atlas. She must have smelled his fear. His real fear. She woke up with a sneezing sort of snort, and leapt to her paws, looking up at Shiro rather expectantly.

Shiro held up a hand at her, and paused to sniff the air. She followed in suit. The smell was old -- nearly two weeks old, to be precise. But that didn't stop it from striking him like acid to skin when he recognized the scent. He would recognize the scent anywhere.

"Sendak."

He turned to Atlas after his verbal realization. "Why the hell didn't you wake me up?" Shiro cried, his heart in his throat. The smell of Sendak suddenly pressed upon him like a physical weight -- it made him twitchy and scared. Ready to submit to whatever his superior wanted. It was an instinct written into his demon code, really.

Atlas didn't seem phased. She gave another sort of sneeze, and then shook her head a bit -- ears flapping. Shiro could understand the gesture.

I tried.

He gave an exasperated sort of sound, and threw up his hands. "Of course," he said bitterly, his fangs grit rather tightly. Shiro turned and looked around his room of the warehouse, scanning it for any trace of something off. Food bags were scattered and torn apart, their half eaten contents strewn about the floors. "What the hell happened here? Did you do this, Atlas?"

Atlas walked up to his side, and gave a low whine. She pointed her nose towards the dresser, where Feathers began to creep out from. Shiro's scowl darkened.

"Feathers! Why did you do that?" he asked, his voice startling the kitten back behind the dresser again.

The Hellhound answered for her. She moved over to the window, nosing the tattered drapes before simply holding it in her teeth and pulling it back from the window. The First Quarter Moon shined in through the glass, obscured by a soft cloud that passed over its way white glow. Shiro furrowed his brow, confusion blooming through his system.

"Wasn't it just Third Quarter...? I... Jesus Christ, how long have I been asleep?" Shiro looked down at himself -- at his wrinkled outfit, still covered in the dried blood of his feral outing. The blood was old, nearly as old as the smell of Sendak. Shiro's eyes narrowed, and then they widened, a fast beat of dread beating through his system. "Lotor hasn't been feeding Feathers... he hasn't changed my outfit either. He hasn't cleaned the floor or... hell, he didn't even wake me up about Sendak..."

Atlas gave a deep whine, and let go of the drapes, covering the window back up. She looked at him with big, worried eyes. Shiro could feel the truth from her emotion alone.

"Sendak took him?"

A whine and a slow blink from Atlas, and Shiro completely forgot why he had been angry before.

He sprung into action without thinking. In one hand Shiro summoned a bowl of fresh cat food, and in the other a large bowl of water. He ignored how his head spun when he set both bowls down for Feathers, and then leaned up against the wall as he magically changed his outfit and cleaned his body, reaching a hand up to his face to wipe away the trail of blood that was already beginning to slip from his nostril. His dirty dress shirt transformed into a sleek leather jacket that clung tightly to his form, and his old slacks became black pants equipped with a belt and, most importantly, a sheath. Finally, Shiro held out his palm and brought forth his sword, slipping it down into his sheath until the weapon clicked into place.

Shiro whistled and Atlas bounded to his side, but he could feel her confusion as he placed a hand on her shoulder, gathering up more magic to teleport. She whined -- Shiro could basically hear the unspoken words the whimper put forth.

What are you doing?

"Sendak can't have him," Shiro said tightly, gritting his teeth. "Our chain is still intact -- Lotor's not dead yet. We still have some time to get him out of hell."

Atlas whined again. She shivered a bit, and leaned forwards, her nose pressing into one of the scars that hid on Shiro's chest beneath his jacket. A scar he had gotten in Hell. A scar that still burned from his torture.

Sendak?

Shiro grit his teeth a little, and finally pushed up off of the wall. "I have to fight him," he said, nodding his head. "I'll have more of my magic in Hell. Hopefully I can distract him long enough for Lotor to get away. I... I can't let him hurt Lotor. I don't care what he did to me. I... I have to keep him safe. Even if that means fighting Sendak."

The Hellhound didn't even have to whine to convey her next message.

You'll lose.

There was a moment's pause. Shiro looked at her, his brow furrowing at her concern. His heart aching at her fear.

"I know."

And without another word from him or another worry from Atlas, Shiro closed his eyes and focused on the one place he hated to call home.

When he opened his eyes again, Shiro was in Hell.

~~~

'Perhaps' Lotor has found himself thinking on more then one occasion. 'Torture would have been more merciful.'

He had lost track of time, lost track of everything but Sendak's general daily routine and his thoughts that maybe, despite everything, Shiro would come and find him again. His dreams took over his hopes, and sometimes he would dream of Shiro appearing and sneaking him away, or they would just suddenly be sitting in by that stream once more, perhaps with a picnic, for some couple's outing together.

And then his eyes would open. The optimism has been nice while it lasted but nothing quite felt as soul-crushing as the way that reality smothered and flickering flame of hope. Nothing felt worse than dreaming of Shiro's arms around him as he was saved only to open his eyes to an empty room or sometimes to Sendak's sneer as he prepared a needle.

As it turns out, his blood sold well. As Sendak anticipated, it had been addictive. A new drug. Like angels blood, but better, with a longer buzz and more power laced into it. Lotor hadn't been surprised to hear that the currency in the underworld was souls, but he definitely hadn't expected Sendak to come striding in on the second day and boast about how much he'd made.

"Three drops for ten souls," he had boasted, his grating purr of a voice ringing in Lotor's ears even when he wasn't there, even in a memory. "Or a vial for thirty."

Lotor never responded when he talked about things like that, just keeping quiet and averting his eyes and deciding instead that it would be infinitely better if he accepted it at face value instead of pushing everything away. He'd lost so much hope by then that he didn't even have the energy to argue.

Though, when strapped to a table (or board of some sort) with restraints around your wrists, ankles, waist and throat, it's not difficult to give up hope. Especially not when the chains, upon first being fixed there, had burned his skin so badly his flesh had sizzled. Even more so when the one person who would care that he was missing suddenly despised him and Lotor doubted that he would ever come to help.

Did that sting to think of? Perhaps. But the ache of his chest and his heart was something he'd become numb to just about a week ago, when he'd faced the consequences of misbehaving. The heavy, slashed whip marks on his back, burning red and bleeding, had been discipline enough. If holy water was what it took to hurt demons, Sendak must have found something that worked the same way on angels because the agony that had hit him when the whip cracked had been blinding, had sent white hot bursts of pain through his body and bursting behind his eyelids. Had made him tremble and sob even as he'd tried to remain quiet. If he'd known being in heaven would have lessened his pain tolerance he would have turned himself straight into hell.

But those marks had begun to fade now. As had every other bruise and cut that Sendak had given him for either discipline or his own amusement.

So he stayed there, restrained in hell, with his shirt somewhere on the floor, discarded in a heap, and his choppy hair matted and knitted, plastered to his skin with sweat as he worked up a tolerance to the heat. At least it would grow now, and he could do nothing violent that would force him to cut it off again. He could say with an inkling of pride that it had now grown down to his chest, and was only half of the length that it had been before.

But he had no time to celebrate it. Lotor had taken to humming through the day to give himself a sense of time, to make sure he knew around when Sendak would be returning with this repetitive routine. And as his humming changed to a soft repetitive tune, he heard it time perfectly with the clacking of Sendak's pristine shoes against the floor. It was apparent that he had nothing else to entertain his time with- even if Sendak hated his humming.

"Ah, perfect timing," Lotor said, his eyes fixing upon Sendak the second he was in view. "I would assume that you need to restock?"

Sendak's looked the same every day. When Lotor's eyes went hazy from the heat and the exhaustion and, occasionally, the blood loss, he would even be able to see the old Sendak standing before him. With the same slicked back hair but missing his horns for just a heartbeat while Lotor's deliciousness passed. He wore a new suit daily- frequently rotating between the colours of white, black, and purple of some shade. He would occasionally come in with weapons, usually when he scowled, or empty-handed but with a sickly smile. Sometimes, albeit rare, Sendak would come in with marks on his neck- bites and hickeys that Lotor only recognised from his experiences with Shiro. He wasn't sure if they were there to urge a disgusted reaction from Lotor or just because Sendak had no shame.

But today, Sendak entered with a nasty grin on his lips- one that meant there had been good profits- but also meant that more blood was going to be drawn. Lotor's eyes flicked to the needle on the table before him for a moment, hoping that he would use it instead of what he used to do- digging his nails into Lotor's flesh to tear it apart and letting him bleed into a container of some sort. The only reason why Sendak has stopped doing that was because there was a lot spilt that could have been contained. The only reason it was still at risk of happening was because Sendak was still Sendak, and the claws hurt far more than the needle did.

~~~

Shiro almost forgot how hard it was to navigate Hell.

Hell was a strange place. There was no real world there — at least Shiro didn't think so. Past the thick stone walls there were flames and past the flames there was a dread inspiring nothingness that made even the bravest angel or demon shudder at the thought. So was hell a building? Was it a palace? Shiro wasn't so sure it was anything so mortal. Endless twisting corridors and rooms of torture designed for each and every individual soul condemned to the fiery afterlife. Doors that would lead to more doors that would lead to more doors. Halls that would lead to halls that would lead to more halls. The only trademarks he could rely on were the different screams that would echo and bounce about the stone work around him. Perhaps a rustier looking pair of shackles on the wall.

All Shiro knew was that he couldn't rely on his sight and memory to find Lotor. Hell was an ever changing maze of misery and failure — he would go mad before he found Lotor searching for him like that. Shiro was going to depend on his other senses. He had no other choice.

He felt nothing but the heat he had long since grown accustomed to. The flames that licked the walls he clung so close to warmed the corridors to a healthy bake. Accustomed or no, Shiro's skin was still shiny with sweat maybe thirty or so minutes after appearing in the realm — his brow sticky and his back prickly beneath his leather jacket. He could hear the rattling of chains and the mournful screams of the tortured. The begging and the pleading. All of the cries he was sure he had uttered when he was tortured. Shiro could taste the blood and pain that clung to the dry air. There was a thick, heavy fug of it all as he continued down the twisting pathways and through, the sense of agony basically a solid thing that lived in the atmosphere. He could smell... well he could smell a lot of things, actually.

The scent of demon was one of the heaviest, of course. Demons lesser than him. Demons superior to him. The latter, however, grew stronger as Shiro continued on through the halls. The deeper he ventured into the belly of Hell, the more powerful the demons around him would be. He passed some in the halls — some he recognized and some he didn't. Whenever Shiro would, he had ducked his head and stood a bit closer to Atlas, trying to seem as respectful as possible.

Beneath the smell of demons was the obvious smell of blood. Then there was the stench of sweat and pain beneath that. Then finally there was the tickle of smoke and flame that itched at his sensitive nose. Shiro tried to focus on the blood, picking apart every scent for something familiar. Luckily, Lotor's scent was too unique to miss among the thousands and thousands of other scents. All he had to do was pause and tip his head back — close his eyes and focus on Lotor and Lotor alone — and then the trail would come to him. He followed the scent, quiet and determined as he crept his way through the bowels of Hell.

It took him about an hour to navigate to the source of the blood. He found a door — a familiar door with iron hinges and a heavy, circular knocker made from rusted steel — and all he could smell was Lotor. Shiro tried not to think about how the scent of his blood spill made his system whirl with want, and instead took a moment to focus himself. He closed his eyes, took in a long, low breath, steadying his nerves along with his addiction. There was maybe a moment or so of silence before Atlas offered a whine, starting him out of his unconscious hesitation. Shiro looked at her and offered a weak smile, reaching a hand up to rub behind her ears.

"Te amo," he said. I love you.

Atlas wagged her tail, and offered a sneeze of a snort.

I love you too.

Without another moment of hesitation, Shiro turned back to the door and pressed his hand over its surface — spreading his fingers over the coarse wood. His power, strengthened from the magic of Hell, surged through his body and past his fingertips, causing the heavy door before him to rattle. Energy coursed through the wood, first causing it to splinter, and then to crack. Once Shiro was sure it was weak enough, he pulled his hand back, and lifted his foot to kick it in. The first kick made the door fall in on itself, and the second made it collapse. It kicked up dust and debris — Shiro stepped through a cloud of it, waving his hand in front of his face as he tried to see past it.

And then his heart leapt into his throat at the sight.

Shiro saw Lotor first. His gaze was instinctively drawn to him — and the moment it had, he felt nearly all of the color drain from his face. It only took him a moment to see the chains that bound him to Sendak's table. Then another to notice how weak and trembly he had been— how pale his skin had been. Then another to notice how many vials of his blood had been stocked about the room.

He noticed Sendak only when the other demon offered an annoyed sort of groan. Sendak had been standing beside the table, holding a needle in one clawed hand in an almost lackadaisical kind of way. He had just been leaned over Lotor, likely to extract more blood, but it seemed as though Shiro had interrupted. Sendak turned to look at the stunned Shiro, then down at the remnants of his door, and then back up again.

"You didn't have to do that," he said, the voice making Shiro shiver — as it always did. "The door was unlocked. And you could have at least knocked.."

Shiro grit his teeth and scowled, hand sinking down to the sword at his hip. Atlas growled deeply beside him, raising up her hackles and pulling back her lips to show her sharp teeth.

"My way had more style," Shiro answered, trying to keep his heart from slamming so quickly in his chest. He noticed that Lotor had moved a bit and felt his eyes widen — Shiro thought he'd been unconscious. Shiro straightened up a bit, his features softening. "Lotor, are you alright? I'm sorry I'm late— I took one hell of a fucking nap."

Lotor let out a breathless little laugh.

"Fitting comment," he managed, feeling so very weak with how little blood was still running through his veins. "And I think... I might be managing. It's hard to tell. In fact, come back in fifteen or so minutes, when I've been drained of a little more, and I can tell you for certain that it'll be a no."

He could barely even lift his head to see Shiro- a sign of weakness that disgusted him- his gaze still helplessly fixed on the demon that he hoped with every fibre of his being had come to help him.

"You sure you want to be here? I mean... I won't hate you if you leave. I... I might despise you if you leave me like this but that's... not hatred..." He couldn't quite think clearly like this. "I just want to tell you... I- fuck, this isn't the time, but whatever Allura showed you it- it wasn't true. But you- you should get me out of here alive if you want to know more. I can't think... not like this."

Shiro furrowed his brow at Lotor, feeling uneasy at the groggy, spaced sound of his voice. He started to move forward to help him without thinking, but stopped in his tracks when Sendak had side-stepped in front of the table Lotor had been bound to. When Shiro looked up at him, he felt a sharp chill dart down his spine at the irritated look in Sendak's eyes. The scowl that curled Sendak's lips downwards was sour and snide -- his features sharp with anger as he glared down at Shiro before him.

"Leave," he commanded, voice deep. Authoritative. It made Shiro's chest seize up and his breath stutter -- Sendak's entire presence seemed to unnerve him, really. Just his scent was enough to make Shiro want to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. "Do not return until you are summoned. Do you understand me?"

There was a moment's pause as Shiro's primitive instincts considered following Sendak's orders. To simply drop everything, wish Lotor luck, and turn on his heel and go. Every nerve in his body urged him to submit -- every unconscious thought told him Lotor didn't deserve his help anyways.

But instead of leaving, for some incredibly odd, utterly bizarre sort of reason, Shiro gripped tightly to the hilt of his sword, and cocked his head forwards, pulling his lips back to bare his fangs.

"Loud and clear, boss man," he said, voice dark and oily with snide. Atlas gave a low, threatening growl beside him, ducking her head low as she snarled up at the demon before them. "But Lotor is mine, sir. And I'm not leaving without him."

Sendak's eyes, one blazing orange and the other a deep, soulless yellow, were trained down on Shiro's hands, widening a little in a weak surprise at Shiro's resistance. Perhaps not surprise but... entertainment. At least that had been what Shiro guessed as he watched Sendak offer up slick sort of smirk and utter a low, drawling sort of laugh.

He shook his head a little, setting down the needle he had been preparing to stick Lotor with and rubbing his hands together as if he'd been wiping them clean of filth. "You have some nerve for a pathetic bug," he snickered, shaking his head. Sendak held out his hands, flicking his wrists in slow circles, and a heavy claymore sword was summoned, laying flat in his hands. It was a handsome weapon made from sharp, dazzling steel, its hilt engraved with intricate designs and bedazzled with the occasional jewel. Sendak was strong enough to wield it in his one hand, the sight making Shiro's eyes widen and his stomach churn as he slowly slipped his double handed longsword from its own sheath. "Though I suppose you were always a bit... persistent when it came to your soulmate. I'll just have to torture the sense back into you again."

Shiro parted his lips to respond, but he stopped himself from delivering his own defensive quip when he recognized Sendak's words.

"My what?" he asked, cocking his brow and tilting his head. He offered an awkward sort of snort, lowering his sword a little. "Lotor isn't my soulmate. What gave you that idea?"

Instead of the confused reaction Shiro had been hoping for, Sendak offered a harsh bark of laughter, taking a moment or so to compose himself. Even Lotor managed a breathy little laugh at the shock on Shiro's face- that was what he'd been trying to tell Shiro. Sendak rolled his eyes, offering a low chuckle as he flicked his gaze back to Lotor, and then up front to the bewildered Shiro once again.

"You don't know? My, that's just... that's priceless," he sighed, reaching up a claw to wipe a melodramatic tear from the corner of his eye. "Of course Lotor is your soulmate. It may have been centuries ago, but I can still remember how... disgustingly pathetic your relationship had been. A prince takes pity on a gladiator, and the two are star crossed lovers until the very end -- it's enough to make me feel sick, really."

Shiro's face paled, and he lowered his sword even more. He felt Atlas whine beside him -- he felt her warn him not to get too distracted -- but even so he stared at Sendak with his furrowed brow and worried eyes. "But... but that's not what I saw when Allura..."

He trailed off, realization hitting him like a splash of icy water.

"Holy shit," he muttered, the shock of the situation fading away, caving in as all the regrets and the guilt flooded his system as through some sort of wall or damn had finally burst. Shiro looked to Lotor, his eyes soft and his face hot with a blush of deep shame. "I... Lotor I'm so sorry... I didn't know- fuck." He tried to ignore how Sendak groaned at the sudden emotion, the demon before him throwing his head back and rolling his eyes far back into his skull. "This is all my fault, isn't it Because I was... I overreacted."

Lotor's eyes managed to lift to Shiro as he had his head hung, letting out another weak little attempt at a laugh. The sincerity in Shiro's tone did manage to bring a little smile to his lips and almost would have had him blushing if there was enough blood to rush to his cheeks.  
"Shiro, believe me, it's fine, but if you could get along with saving me around about now it would be truly appreciated," he murmured, coughing a little and closing his eyes in some attempt to relax, feeling almost sick with exhaustion and weakness.

His eyes flickered to Sendak and he sighed, his voice a little tremulous when he spoke again.  
"Just don't let it get to you yet. You can apologise when we get home but you need to make sure that we make it there first."

Honestly, as much as he appreciated the sweet apology and as nice as it was to see Shiro regretting being so impulsive and dangerous, it wasn't his first priority when Sendak was clearly planning something or trying to distract him and Shiro was falling into his hands. It was admittedly a little frustrating but Lotor didn't have the strength to properly scold him for it. He was just hoping, desperately, that Shiro would listen to him and do as he was told- focus on Sendak while he could and before anything bad happened. Focus on Sendak until he was no longer an obstacle.

Atlas seemed to give a snort of agreement beside Shiro, and he snapped out of his guilty daze in an instant, the present situation clicking back into place. He nodded his head, deciding it best not to answer Lotor and lifting up his sword again. He shifted his legs apart and leaned his head forwards -- eyes narrowing as his primal fighting instincts began to kick in. He realized, for the first time since losing his memories, that it was being a gladiator that gave him such a sense of battle -- but Shiro only let the realization thrum through him in a dull kind of way, however. He had to focus on the monster of a demon before him, the one that seemed happy that the emotions had been cut short.

Sendak raised his own sword again, bringing his other hand to rest at the base of its hilt. He crouched down in his own sort of fighting posture, baring his glistening fangs in a sick sort of grin. Shiro just grit his teeth back, studying him up and down -- searching for a weak spot. The demon was dressed handsomely, though his suit jacket had been hanging up on a coat rack (one composed of what had to be human vertebrates), in the back of the room. Sendak's white shirt stretched over solid muscle much bigger than his own. His fists were about the size of Shiro's head, if not bigger, and his sword nearly bested Shiro's by a good foot or so. Shiro didn't let any of that phase him, however. He didn't even let himself shudder at the thought of all the things Sendak could do to him. Of all the things Sendak had done to him. Shiro's scars ached beneath his clothes, as if in warning. To tell him to take caution in the beast that had scrawled them into his skin.

To distract himself from the thoughts, Shiro took the first move -- stepping to the side rather slowly. Sendak followed in suit, as expected, and soon the two were circling each other, building the tension of the impending fight further. Atlas moved behind Shiro, prowling, her claws clicking against the stone beneath them as Shiro inched his way closer and closer to Lotor's table. He couldn't turn to try and free him -- Sendak would lunge and get him from behind. Atlas was going to have to do it somehow... Shiro would just have to distract Sendak long enough for Atlas to get Lotor free and perhaps try to get him out of there. He would just have to stay alive. If he died, then Atlas would die too... and then Lotor would have no one to stand between him and Sendak's wrath.

Shiro stopped in his tracks, standing just in front of Lotor, Atlas just beside him. Sendak's eyes narrowed, and Shiro suddenly realized he had been waiting for Shiro to take up the offensive -- his body had been poised and tense, his blazing eyes watching Shiro's feet rather carefully. Shiro wondered, in one last sense of pathetic cowardice, what would happen if he just never moved forwards. To take the initiative against such a big opponent was suicidal... he found his body hesitant to move.

But if he didn't, Sendak would charge, and Shiro was considerably cornered by the table Lotor had been strapped upon.

So there wasn't much to do.

Nothing except attacking.

Shiro did a few things at once the moment that thought seemed to dawn on him. He sprung into action without thinking, snapping a command at Atlas in fluent Latin -- telling her to help Lotor instead of helping him -- before lunging forwards, using the push from his feet to barrel his way towards Sendak's colossal form with a guttural sort of growl. He made a lucky guess of what Sendak would do before the demon even began to react, and dodged a downwards swing from Senda's sword. Shiro leapt to the side of him and spun, lashing out with his own blade and catching Sendak on the side. The thin steel of his sword didn't pierce through too much of Sendak's muscle mass with such a simple swipe, but there was a spray of black blood and a sharp shout from Sendak, so the movement hadn't been completely useless.

However, when Shiro turned to strike again, he lacked the elements of surprise and momentum. He had lashed his sword for Sendak's legs, but Sendak had blocked with his own blade -- the mere impact sending vibrations up Shiro's weapon and down his arms to his very bones. Shiro growled, spun around on his heel, and swung his sword up to meet Sendak's arm instead. Sendak was too fast -- his prosthetic hand moved quickly with that magic holding it together. He caught Shiro's blade, wrenching it back so quickly the handle had simply slipped from Shiro's hands.

All Sendak had to do was squeeze his fist and the blade bent. He squeezed harder, and it snapped in two. Shiro watched with a sorrowfully horrified expression as his prized sword fell to the ground in fragments, nothing but two chunks of splintered steel.

Shiro, then, realized he was on the defensive with only his bare hands.

He stumbled backwards as Sendak advanced, shooting Lotor and Atlas a fast glance to make sure they had been alright. The sight of Atlas leaning Lotor up on the table with her head was interrupted by the sound of heavy steel whipping through the air -- Shiro had whipped his gaze back quickly, leaping to the side to dodge the wild swing from Sendak's sword. Sendak gave a low growl, and ripped his weapon up from where it had shattered the stone flooring. He charged forwards with a speed that made Shiro's head spin -- and all Shiro could do was lift up his arm to block the next attack.

The sword sank deep into the synthetic build of his prosthetic with a dull thunk, the blow making Shiro's whole body shudder. Sendak gave what had to be an enraged roar, and pulled his sword from Shiro's magic limb with so much force it almost seemed to pop Shiro's arm from his socket. He lifted his leg, kicking outwards and nailing Shiro in the chest with such force Shiro slammed into the wall behind him. The shelf that held all those vails of Lotor's blood came loose at the impact, falling to the ground with the sound of shattering glass and the addicting smell of Lotor. Shiro gave a gasp at the sight of Sendak's sword sailing towards his head, and let his knees buckle, dropping to the ground to avoid the blow and then rolling beneath Sendak -- through his parted legs.

Shiro leapt to his feet and took Sendak's momentary confusion to look for something he could attack with. Before he knew it, the coat rack he had noticed before was in his hands, Sendak's jacket thrown to the ground. Shiro charged forwards, bringing the makeshift staff of vertebrae up over his head and slamming it down over the back of Sendak's skull. The piece, much like Shiro's sword, shattered. Human bone exploded from the place of impact, the white shards flying outwards and chattering to the ground. Sendak turned around quickly after that, his sword free from the wall, and glared down at Shiro with a look of pure loathing and malice.

The only thing that had done was piss him off.

He tried to attack with the bone coat rack again, but Sendak grabbed it in his free hand, pulling it up from Shiro's grasp and throwing it to the side. Shiro then, in a final, desperate sort of attempt, launched his fist forwards for Sendak's face, but again, the demon was too fast. He caught Shiro's hand in his own, and squeezed down like he had done with the sword. There was a sick popping crack, and then the sound of bones simply being crushed to paste.

Sendak completely destroyed Shiro's hand in one simple clench of his own.

Shiro's whole body had seized, and before he knew it he had screamed, agony exploding through his system to the point of flashing his vision white. He was nearly blinded by the pain, the entire situation forgotten as the shock exploded in his head. His knees buckled, body sagging towards the ground when they had given out -- but Sendak held him up, lifting by that grip on his hand. Shiro gave a half-cry, half-whimper, writhing in his grip. Blood was spilling down his arm from where Sendak had been holding him. From where his splintered bones pierced through his skin. Shiro gave a low groan, feeling as though he could be sick.

Sendak smiled at him, finally gaining back his sense of collected cockiness. Shiro watched his face, not the sword that Sendak began to raise, too distracted by the pain.

"You weak, pathetic, little thing," he snarled, a demonic fire behind his eyes seeming to simply hypnotize Shiro with fear. "You thought you could defeat me? You're nothing compared to me. In life. In death. You were always less than me. Everything you have, everything you own, it's all mine because you are mine." He leaned close, nearly pressing his forehead against Shiro's, pungent, bloody breath spilling over Shiro's face in heavy wafts. "Including your soulmate. You should know, before you came into the equation, Lotor and I had our own special relationship. We were nearly married. I'm sure we can try again once you're gone -- he can be my lover again. And he's going to be so much happier with someone he can actually rely on."

Shiro squeezed his eyes shut, huffing deep breaths in and out, past his clenched teeth. "Shut up!" he yelled, the magic of his emotion boosting his voice. He snapped his eyes open and lashed out with his other fist. But Sendak had been moving too -- Shiro didn't even notice what he had been doing until the glint of the sword caught in the light.

And by then, it had been too late.

Everything moved so quickly. Shiro didn't even have the chance to be afraid -- there was no chance to even try and stop it. Hell, he barely even had the chance to widen his eyes. The sword flashed in the dull light, Shiro noticed it, and then there was simply the sound of ripping flesh and snapping bone as Sendak's beautiful claymore sword was pushed through Shiro's chest. Lotor's scream of his name was lost to the sound of blood rushing through Shiro's ears and the shock of it all.

Shiro gave a hollowed sort of gasp, eyes finally shooting wide. His mouth fell open into a silent sort of scream of his own, the breath catching in his throat as his eyes trailed down to the heavyset sword plunged deep into his chest cavity. For a moment, Shiro fell into a deep sort of denial -- that it hadn't been so bad. That it wasn't anything too fatal. That he could fix it. But then Sendak twisted the sword, snapping Shiro's ribs and ripping his lungs. He wrenched it from Shiro's chest, and shoved him down to the ground, finally letting go of the bloodied mess that used to be his hand. Shiro collapsed backwards with nothing but a pathetic wheeze, the breath suddenly escaping him and the blood taking its place. Thick, black blood that filled his lungs and rose in his throat. That choked him.

Panic whirled through Shiro's system, that primal fear of death simply flooding him a the realization of just how grim his situation had been. He didn't have much time to feel that fear, however, because Sendak had been upon him again. A hand grasped Shiro's shirt collar, pulling his limp body upwards so he could look Shiro directly in his fluttering, pain dazed eyes.

"That should finally take care of you, hm?" Sendak hummed, his terrifying purrs curling around his words. Nearly muddling them. "You'll die. Your disgusting mutt will die. And then I'll have Lotor all to myself."

Shiro tried to respond, but his words were lost.

Sendak laughed. "There he is. My loyal soldier. All it took was a little bit of pain and humiliation." Sendak cocked his head, raising up his brow. "Your last few moments of life will be you wordlessly choking on your own blood. How does that make you feel, Shiro?" He turned, leaning his ear close to Shiro, as if to hear him better. After a moment or so of breathless gags and whimpers, Sendak snickered again, and leaned back. "That's what I thought. Pathetic to the very end. All you've ever done is submit to those more powerful -- sit and wait for them to grant you freedom or upgrade your status. Well, Zarkon would never give you freedom, and I would never let you sit on the same rank as me. It never mattered how many souls you collected. How many people you condemned. You were never going to be anything but an inferior, bootlicking, yellow bellied cowa-"

He never got to finish.

While he had been prattling on to Shiro about his weaknesses, Shiro had brought his hand back, patting about the stone floor in search for something to help him. Anything that could help him. He had found the bottom half of his broken sword, gripping the leather handle tight in his trembling hand. Shiro had waited for the perfect moment to strike. For Sendak to be distracted enough not to notice. Even in his delirious state of near-death, Shiro had to admit there had been nothing more satisfying than to stab that steel shard deep into Sendak's throat at the very moment he tried to call Shiro a coward.

Shiro had to admit there had been nothing more satisfying than the shock that flashed in Sendak's eyes.

He ripped the blade forwards, slicing clean through Sendak's windpipe. The demon's blood sprayed at him, splattering about his face, as Sendak reeled backwards, both hands flying for his throat as he gurgled past the blood that rose in his mouth. He stumbled. Then he fell backwards. Then he writhed. Then he stopped. Then he twitched...

And then Sendak was dead.

Shiro collapsed again, slumping back into the floor. He reached his hand up to his chest, clawing at the gushing stabwound, gasping wetly for air. He turned his head to the side, and hacked up a mouthful of clumpy, clotted up blood. Shiro coughed, gagged, and then shuddered -- trying to ease himself of the sudden dread that gripped his heart.

He was going to die. Shiro still couldn't get a good breath in -- he still couldn't breathe past the blood filling his lungs. There was nothing he could do to stop it or heal it. There was... there was nothing he could do.

Shiro figured that had been the way things were supposed to be. He had been on that earth too long. Shiro could finally free the Earth of his monstrosity. Lotor was safe... he could live on somehow. Escape Hell the moment he could get his strength up.

He guessed that if Lotor was safe... he couldn't really mind that he was going to die.

But Lotor wasn't just going to accept this. He wasn't going to sit back and accept that Shiro was dying, that he could do nothing about it, partially out of a selfish need to survive but mostly because he wasn't going to let Shiro trade two lives for his life. And Atlas gnawed through the final chain, allowing him to fall forwards and to his knees.

 

He landed in his own blood, he noted with immeasurable disgust as he swept up two intact vials, already beginning to rush toward Shiro, though he swayed with every step when he was on his feet and crawling on his hands and knees only got him splintered with broken or fractured glass. But, even with the way that the room swayed around him and with how the smell of his own blood mixed with Sendak's made his head swim and vision blur, he didn't quite care. He just moved toward Shiro. He just pushed him back against the wall, propping him up, tipping his head back as he pulled the lid off of one of the vials and emptied it into Shiro's mouth. His blood moved like a thick, smooth sludge, the iridescent silver and gold mixed in a marble kind of pattern with the black poison that had infiltrated his blood long ago. And it settled on Shiro's tongue and slid toward his throat.

"Drink," Lotor ordered, though his voice was still weak, pulling the top off of the other vial and holding it up above Shiro's mouth too. "Please, Shiro, you need to drink. This... this will help, please," he said again, watching as the other vial passed Shiro's lips and slid down his tongue. One mouthful... that...

That wouldn't be enough to do anything with a wound that big.

He forced a smile onto his lips, though it was anxious and sad, and his stomach twisted as reality began to set in and he started to understand what he would need to do. He was glad he didn't have a shirt on because fumbling with the buttons right now could well have damned Shiro. Well... damned him more than he was already damned.  
"You need to drink from me." The urgence seemed to distract him from his own misery, from the way his throat scratched like sandpaper every time that he parted his lips, from the way he'd stepped in and landed in both his blood and Sendak's, from the way that shiny blood and black blood covered his clothes, his hands, and had splattered onto his face and chest. He needed to focus on this instead.

He supposed, looking back on the surgery he used to do before the gladiator fights, that blood never used to faze him. That, maybe, he was used to pushing his own pain and discomfort to the back of his mind when someone needed help more. And everyone that he had performed that surgery on, he'd taken out through a secret exit in the dungeons, out of a quiet route disguised as a corpse after the fight. He'd given them a coin satchel and a wish of good luck as he'd sent them off on a new life. He never saw them again, but he fought tooth and nail on a surgery bed to ensure that they did get the freedom they promised.

And Shiro would be free of Sendak. He just had to get him out of here.

Shiro could barely understand anything that been going on. It took him so long to even realize Lotor had been pouring those vials into his mouth — and for a moment he didn't even understand why he would do such a thing. He was already choking on his own blood, how could more help? There was blood everywhere, as it seemed, hot and sticky on Shiro's cold body. How... how could more help?

But then he felt the buzz. He felt his skin buzz. He felt his scars buzz. His nerves and his worries. He felt the ripped flesh of his wounds buzz as the power of Lotor's strange blood began to take its magical toll. But it wasn't enough — Shiro could still feel his eyes rolling back with pain and his body quake with the effort to keep him alive. That was when he finally noticed how quickly Lotor had jumped into action. How he had leaned his bare neck closer. How the words snapped from his worried lips and finally managed their way into Shiro's head past the ringing of his ears.

Shiro shut his eyes tightly, and turned away. He coughed, spitting the clotty ink from his throat and onto the ground beside him. He wanted to say no. That he couldn't. That it was okay. That he was supposed to die there — that Lotor couldn't save him. Shouldn't save him. But Shiro couldn't even hope to speak, so he settled with lifting a trembling hand and settling it over Lotor's, squeezing hard as if in reassurance.

"Oh, for God's sake," Lotor murmured, rolling his eyes before he could help himself. "I wasn't asking, Shiro. You need to drink. What kind of a soulmate would I be if I just let you die here? Now, just for once, stop being so damn stubborn and drink. If you won't take it from me I'll scrape up every drop from the floor and force it down your throat. Am I clear?"

He propped Shiro up a little more firmly, moving so his face was pressed into Shiro's neck so that his throat was exposed to Shiro. Urging him. Tempting him.

"Drink from me or I'll force you."

Shiro gave a low whimper, and tried hard to stop himself — he could hear Lotor's pulse, hear his blood pumping through the veins of his throat. He clenched his jaw and trembled with the effort of holding himself back, but Lotor just pressed closer. His skin was like electricity when he forced his neck onto Shiro's lips, tempting him and his instincts. Like Keith has tempted him all those months ago. Taking advantage of Shiro's animalistic desires. Of his monstrous impulses. Of his weakness.

And just like that time in Keith's shitty home, Shiro couldn't stop himself.

He parted his lips, felt his teeth craze the sensitive skin of Lotor's neck, and only a moment after he had been clenching his jaw again, fastening his fangs into Lotor's flesh. His canines split through skin and pierced into muscle. Blood flooded his mouth, spurting from Lotor's wounds and onto Shiro's tongue. It was fresher and warmer than the blood from the vial, exploding pleasure across Shiro's taste buds. How he managed to drink in his state, Shiro didn't know. One moment the blood was simply in his mouth, and then the second, Shiro had been swallowing. Gulping. Draining Lotor as though he hadn't just been hesitant to hurt him. As though he hadn't just nearly died to save him from a demon who wished to do exactly what he was.

Magic surged through his body, lacing his nerves and his cells with power. Shiro gave a low growl, and leaned up some more, reaching his hands back around Lotor's torso to pull him closer. He cocked his head to the side, piercing his teeth deeper into Lotor's flesh, trying to get as much blood as he possibly could. He didn't hear Lotor groan and he didn't feel Lotor begin to fall slack in his arms. All he could feel was the addicting electricity that flooded his system to the point of spilling over. The sizzle of his wounds as the skin began to crawl and stitch together. The taste of the blood as it rushed down his throat and warmed his chest and his stomach...

But then something new shot through him.

A chill. A bitter, icy sort of feeling that ripped through his bloodstream and encased him with shivers. It was the same power that had caused Sendak to wrench away those two weeks ago... but Shiro... Shiro didn't pull away. If anything, the icy chill drove him to sink his teeth deeper.

The feeling had felt like a pristine sort of salvation to him. It was a lovely sort of cleanse... the frost rushed through him in waves as he continued to drink from Lotor's throat. It settled over his nerves. It snapped and crackled like icy electricity against his skin. It washed over his wounds like water as they finally melded together, smoothing over his chest and his stomach as they healed the gashes and the broken bones completely. It thrummed through bones in Shiro's hand as they snapped back into place. It seeped deeper into his body with every sip, sinking all the way down to the core of his soul and cleaned it. The ice cleansed him. Froze away all of the bitter blackness of his heart and the aching anger of his soul.

When the cold magic of Lotor's blood was finally done with him, Shiro felt new.

He released the clench of his jaw and pulled away with a heavy gasp, his healed chest expanding as his healed lungs took in a delicious gulp of air. Nothing hurt. Nothing ached. Not his chest or his hands. Not his scars. Not his soul. It was as if he'd been shoved back into that state of peace Lotor had settled him into all those months ago, except the peace didn't run away. It didn't leave his system, and instead it stayed as Shiro pulled away, panting and gasping for air. He looked down at himself in a state of shock — at the intact quality of his chest and his hand. At... at the new color of his prosthetic.

Shiro's eyes widened. Clear eyes. White sclera, grey, sparkling irises. Human eyes... cleaned from the angry glint of a demon. He only had a moment to marvel at the white color of his arm, blue, clean magic shining through that chip Sendak had carved into it from the fight before — because the creature before him had slumped forwards, collapsing onto his chest.

"Lotor!"

Without another moment of hesitation — without another moment of studying the new color of his arm or the lack of his claws — Shiro reached his hand up to cover the wounds on Lotor's throat. He gave a worried swear, easing Lotor down to lie on the floor, clutching his wound tightly and looking around for anything that could staunch the bleeding. Shiro hadn't even noticed the change of his horns. He hadn't even noticed his hair. All his focus was on Lotor. Not his longer, glossy black horns, laced with gold and silver decals. Not the new color of his hair — how it shined like fresh snowfall in the dim light of Sendak's room.

"Shit, Lotor. Are you alright? I'm so sorry — I-I didn't mean to drain so much." Shiro's voice was nearing desperate as he studied Lotor's features. Pale face, fluttering eyes, weakened body. Shiro held him a little closer. "Dammit, Lotor. You're going to be okay. I'll get you out of here, okay?"

And Lotor lay there, on his back, having accepted the help the second that Shiro had begun to offer it. It was difficult to keep his eyes open, he had to admit, but it was even harder to try to pry his gaze away from the suddenly beautiful demon before him. If he didn't know any better, he'd ask if Shiro had become an angel, or if Shiro had been one all along.

But he knew better, and it was perfectly clear that Shiro had always been an angel.

"Of course," he murmured though his voice was weak and his throat felt dry. Even as he felt dizzy and as close as he got to collapsing, he didn't give in. He knew Shiro would help, just as he'd helped Shiro. There was time for this yet. There was time to be in pain and to complain and to die. He had all of the time in the world left to die. Right now, all he wanted to do was stare at Shiro. He could feel his skin buzzing with warmth where Shiro's hand had settled, and it brought a smile to his lips and a flush to his cheeks. "I'm sure... I'll be fine... I've lost plenty of blood over this last... while," he mumbled, his eyes fluttering closed as his body slumped back, even as much as he wanted to continue admiring Shiro.

The last few weeks, all of that hell, the slowly being drained day after day mixed through with beatings and insults and all kinds of things... he was happy that that was the end of it. He was so relieved, even if the thought of celebrating Sendak's death was unsettling. All that he had wanted was to get out, to be saved, and if this was what it took to do that then so be it. He needed Shiro more than he'd ever wanted to, or dared to, admit to.

"Are we going to go home?" Lotor managed to ask, though his voice was strained and weak and god knows that it hurt to talk. "I want... I want to see Feathers again... it's been so long... And I want... to be by that stream with you... maybe..." he trailed off, coughing a little, eyes fixing on Shiro. "Could we have a picnic there? We did that before... once or... perhaps twice."

Shiro nodded quickly, holding Lotor even closer, trying to warm him with his own body heat — he could feel the shivers rack Lotor's form in his arms. He looked at Lotor, finally seeing the changes of Lotor's features, as though he had just woken up from his shock. Sharper fangs — upper and lower canines that stuck out from his mouth. Black lips the color of demon blood. Longer, sharper horns and talons, grown out again after having been shaved down by Sendak. Dark, sunken eyes — ones that held the glossed glint of Hell that Shiro's own eyes had just lost. Shiro frowned, still applying pressure to the wounds on Lotor's throat with one hand and using the other to reach up and brush some of the sweat matted hair from his face. His fingertips moved over Lotor's skin in the strangest sort of way — he didn't have to worry about his talons.

"Yeah. Yeah of course. We just have to get you healed up," Shiro assured, nodding his head. He leaned up a little, already beginning to gather the magic to teleport. It didn't take much at all, really. Lotor's blood turned him into a battery of sorts. Killing Sendak also seemed to have given him unnatural strength — even if he hadn't seen them yet, the new length of his horns signified his higher status already. "Atlas? We have to go. Where are-... holy shit..."

Shiro had trailed off when his gaze had fallen on his Hellhound, who had been watching curiously from behind. She was... she was beautiful to say the least. The black, patchy fur of a beast had grown out and changed into a luscious, white coat, patterned with greys and soft oranges. Her eyes, instead of the usual red glow, were a bright sort of blue, swirling with bright magic. She cocked her head when Shiro had turned to gape at her. Atlas looked down at herself, and offered a confused sort of snort, leaping up to her feet and spinning in a circle as though it could help her get a better look. She gave an alarmed bark, shaking her head so her ears flopped.

"Hey- hey! Atlas, calm down!" Shiro said, blinking hard to snap himself from the shock as well. She stopped panicking, and looked up at him with a low whine. "We'll figure it out, alright? Just come here. We have to help Lotor, alright?"

She looked at him with those striking blue eyes, but then offered a snort and a nod of sorts before making her way over to him — every footstep lacking the clacks of claws on stone. Shiro reached up his hand to hold onto her when she sat beside him, and closed his eyes tight, focusing on the warehouse.

And just a moment later, Shiro found himself there, making that the most seamless teleportation he had ever traveled with.

Shiro moved quickly, not allowing himself to hesitate. He stood from his place on the ground, holding Lotor in a sort of bridal carry — cradling him close to his chest as he brought Lotor over to the mattress. He laid him down on top of it, summoning up a first aid kit without growing any kind of lightheaded. Shiro got to work patching up Lotor, ignoring how the blood that sluggishly drained from Lotor's neck was just a simple black — no longer any sort of angelic silver. He leaned over him, working quickly. Atlas sat beside him, nudging his bangs with her nose as if to point out the change in his hair, but Shiro just waved her away, concentrated on Lotor.

"How are you feeling, Lotor?" Shiro asked quietly after awhile. He'd been adding the final patch over Lotor's throat, moving slowly and delicately, still unused to the lack of talons. "Any better? As soon as I'm don't patching you up, I'll get you some water. And then some food. You've lost so much blood, man."

Lotor's eyes drifted back up to him, a small smile appearing on his lips as he studied Shiro. One handed lifted slowly, reaching out for Shiro even if it was agony to lift his arm- like it was attached to an anchor.  
"You... How long did you plan on lying to me?" he asked, breathless, a soft laugh escaping him. Shiro furrowed his brow at him, waiting for an elaboration. "I always knew you were an angel... you should have told me sooner..." His eyes stayed fixed on Shiro, shining with love and adoration as his heart pounded in his chest. "So beautiful... maybe now you'll see that too..." he felt Shiro's hand closed around his own and let Shiro hold the weight of his arm instead. It felt so heavy to him. Hopefully Shiro wouldn't suffer the same holding his arm up to keep their hands together.

He let out a tired little groan, hearing a quiet meow and turning his head, his eyes fixing upon Feathers, who gave an excited collection of meows as she began to butt her head into him, purring happily to announce his return. And he offered a smile.  
"Shiro..." he didn't even need to look over to know that Shiro was looking at him. "I love you..."

Shiro's eyes were hot. His vision split with tears as he nodded, holding his hand even tighter than before.

"I love you too, Lotor."


	26. Cut Clean From A Dream

"Are you sure you're feeling up to going?"

Shiro asked in a quiet sort of voice. He shifted a little closer to Lotor on their mattress, trailing one of his hands across the bare skin of Lotor's chest, all the way up to his face so he could cup Lotor's cheek in his palm. Ever since he had lost his claws, Shiro had taken full advantage of the soft and rather dainty quality of his fingertips. He didn't want to admit that he loved not having them -- it would surely be a fatal blow to his dignity -- but it was quite obvious how much he liked his nearly human hands whenever he'd hold Lotor's hand or run his fingers through Lotor's hair.

Lotor never voiced how much he envied Shiro for having fingers again, but once in a while he would send a glance to his own talons and look at them with a sort of disgust, but never for long. He didn't want Shiro catching on and starting to feel guilty. Not when he loved how it felt to have Shiro's hands through his hair- with those soft fingertips and the gentle coaxing of fingernails that dragged over his scalp. He wanted to teach Shiro to braid his hair someday- just as an excuse to get Shiro to play with his hair more with his soft touches.

"Because we don't have to go," he continued in his reassuring tone. Shiro drew his legs up so they tangled with Lotor's beneath the sheets and curled in closer to him. "I mean, think I'd feel perfectly fine if we just stayed like this for the next... I don't know... thousand years or so."

It had been three weeks since Shiro had saved Lotor from Hell, and things were very... different.

Shiro, for starters, was one of the more obvious changes. His entire appearance had changed -- Lotor had explained to him when he had been more clear minded that Shiro must have drained his grace from his blood, and that's what cured his soul from the torture and twisting of Hell. Shiro's hair had gone snowy white, a change Shiro could barely even process the first few days after he had passed by the mirror. His horns were still black, but they were shaped more like Sendak's -- like a gazelle's -- and instead of a choppy, grotesque sort of design, it had been decorated with swirling bits of glittering gold and silver. Shiro's tail had the same sort of look, jet black with long strands of gold and silver loosely coiled about it. Shiro's prosthetic was the most curious change, really. It had gone white like his hair, but it was built from something sturdier than his previous one. It was lined with orange and grey decals that matched the fur patterns of Atlas, and glowed that strange blue from all the cracks Sendak had caused with his sword.

He didn't really know why or how Lotor's grace could do such things to him -- why it changed the way he looked and even the way he acted. Shiro felt... calmer. His voice seemed softer whenever he would speak. His nerves were always settled. His scars never ached and his stomach never churned with loathing and rage. The phases of the moon never really affected him too heavily anymore.

Instead, they seemed to affect Lotor.

His were more subtle. Of course they were, they always were, but they were still there. Without the influence of the moon there was that cynical bitterness that would take over his mind for a fraction of a second before his thoughts took over- that was subtle, but it was there. The way his thoughts and goals twisted, how his memories of the afterlife always seemed somewhat unsettling or off while his ones on earth were perfectly preserved. During the peak of his powers he would be overwhelmed, power running through every inch of his body and making him both want to tear himself apart and destroy everything around him instead. It was a slow agony to get through the new moon and almost always he hit a slump. A slump that stabilised until it neared full moon and he always felt so weak, he got so irritable, and he was paranoid almost all of the time. Though, perhaps the paranoia was because of what Sendak had done to him.

It was hard to tell.

His appearance had changed- How hadn't it over the last few months? That had become an irrelevant detail quite quickly. Especially when it was considered how rapidly his goals and ideals had changed. Once he had wanted to go back to heaven no matter what it took. Now, he seemed to fluctuate between wanting to kill every angel that sat up there and told rumours of him with their false information and wanting to take charge of Hell. Sometimes, though usually during the lowest points of his energy, he'd hit such a slump with his ugly appearance and his helplessness and the cruelty of the world that he'd wish death upon himself, sometimes even ask Shiro to join him so they could explore the beyond together, if there was anything there... but the conversation never went further. Shiro would shush him and kiss his forehead and tell him he needed rest and, with those lips against his forehead, the buzzing warmth through his body, Lotor would forget about all of it and would only long for Shiro to complete him, to stay with him while he regained energy.

One of the last rather notable changes had been the one in Shiro and Lotor's relationship. The knowledge that they had been soulmates, and the change of Shiro's mood and mind, lead to something... something beautiful. Something both Shiro and Lotor hadn't experienced in millienna. It started with idle touches and intimate gazes. Then it lead to cuddling in bed or kissing. It lead to hours and hours of sitting beside each other on the stream bed, holding each other in the moonlight, making out to the sound of nature and the babbling water as they had done that one precious night in life. It lead to them sharing the mattress at night and clinging to each other in sleep. Tired kisses and and tangled limbs. Shiro kissing Lotor's talons and Lotor playing with Shiro's new, soft hair.

Just then, Shiro had been pressing his head closer, turning his face into Lotor's chest to try and coax him into playing with his hair.

"I can go see her on my own, too. You don't have to worry about me losing control, of course. I have fancy morals now and everything."

Lotor offered up a smile- weak and exhausted, but there.  
"We can go," he promised Shiro, his ugly taloned hand finding Shiro's. He intertwined their fingers. "I want to go. I still... there's a memory or two that I still want back and the only way to get it is to go to Allura. We can go together, fix your memories and then get any few unknown remnants back. I still don't know how I died and... and that's something I want to know. I've been curious about it for a long while now."

He straightened up a little, moving closer to Shiro subconsciously as his hold on that hand tightened, wanting more of their closeness and contact so he could feel that buzzing through his fingers again. Sometimes, when he was weak, Shiro's hand could rest atop of his and he'd feel the sparks from his fingertips to his elbows or even all the way up to his shoulder. Sometimes he brought Shiro's hands to cup his cheeks and leant into them, allowing the touch to purge his mind of impurities and negativity and letting it soothe him. Sometimes he imagined if this was how it had felt for Shiro when they'd first met.

He reached up with his free hand and brushed a talon over Shiro's cheek, the smooth skin almost feeling unnatural under his hideous hands.  
"I'll be fine, you just need to trust me. Hopefully we can ask her for some kind of a cure for my... condition."

Shiro gave a soft, pouting sort of sigh, curling a little closer to Lotor. "Well," he started, settling his eyes closed and relaxing his body, "we don't have to go right now. We can take a nice long nap to wait..." Shiro parted his lips and forced a yawn. He summoned Atlas over with just his thoughts, telling her to settle down somewhere on top of him. When she did, curling up behind Shiro and against the wall, settling her head over Shiro's torso, Shiro gave a long, melodramatic sigh.

"And would you look at that? I can't move now," he said. He looked at Lotor's high browed stare, and gave a snickered sort of snort. "We'll go after a quick nap -- it'll be no biggie."

Lotor's eyes flicked from Shiro to Atlas.  
"I can go alone," he said, arms folding over his chest as he realised what was going on here. Shiro wasn't the best actor, as much as he may try, and for a demon it was surprisingly easy to tell when he was lying. "Come on, I'd rather go with you. Atlas, get up. Come on, girl. I'll give you... I'll get you a squirrel to chase if you do? A raccoon? Come on, Attie, please? We need to go see Allura... her gate won't be open for much longer. It's urgent."

He waited a few moments, but received only a huff from Atlas, a blow of air from her nose as she moved her head to put a little more weight atop of Shiro's chest. Lotor grit his teeth a little, even if it meant that his sharp fangs- two pairs by his canines- ground against his bottom row of teeth a little.  
"Don't take that tone with me," Lotor argued as he moved one hand to her face, just resting it a little behind her nose on top of her muzzle, but Atlas just huffed again, this time accompanying a growl. "Watch it!" he said, a little more sharpness in his voice. "This is important. More important than whether or not you're comfortable."

He pushed away a little, trying to get up, but Atlas began to whine, busting out her pleading eyes and Shiro seemed to be mirroring her expression almost exactly. Begging him with his eyes to stay. Shiro looked so much like a puppy like that that he almost thought moving away might make him whine. So instead he just slumped down, letting his head rest against Shiro again, sighing with a little frustration.  
"We can't stay for long," he said quietly. "But... we might have a little time to spare."

Shiro grinned, folding his arm up around Lotor and hugging him close. He pressed his face into Lotor's neck, careful around the bandages as he cuddled closer.

"We have plenty of time to spare," he hummed into the crook of Lotor's neck. "I'm our ride, afterall. I get to choose when we go because I'm the one taking us there. Which is going to be so weird, by the way. I've never teleported into a secret goddess realm before."

There were plenty of reasons Shiro didn't want to go to see Allura again -- he didn't want her to take advantage of him again, he didn't want her to hurt Lotor, he didn't want to see lies or be tricked -- but traveling to her realm wasn't one of them, in spite of his complaints. He was curious to see how far he could push his teleportation powers. Whenever Lotor would rest or sleep without him, Shiro would test his new power by zipping and zapping here and there, to and fro. The furthest he had ever gotten was China, though by the time he had gotten back he was a little winded and sweaty. It was further than his demon powers could ever take him, though. The idea gave him a sense of freedom he never did think he would ever have.

"Would you like to do something after we visit Allura? Frozen yogurt maybe?" Shiro snorted again. "Hah... it's so stupid. Like ice cream but worse -- I'll never understand why humans mess up all of their perfectly good food to make it 'healthy'. But yeah? Frozen yogurt? Hey... maybe we can even go before Allura. Bring her a cup. She'd like that, right?"

"Shiro, come on," Lotor said softly, his voice a little quieter now. "You know this is important. Why don't you just tell me why you don't want to go?" He moved his hand to his cheek, frowning up at him. "If you desperately want some frozen yogurt then we could go but... I'm growing tired of you running in circles and avoiding things. I want to get this done and out of the way. Please."

He let his head settle on Shiro's shoulder regardless, almost as if he himself didn't want to go as his eyes closed and he stayed close- careful with the horns on his head, not wanting them to catch on Shiro's or to impale Shiro by accident. But the time they spend together was nice and it was always good to be together like this and after so long, with so much hassle and so little time together where Lotor wasn't dying somehow or too weak to stand or where Shiro would actually not be too busy trying out his powers to spend time with him. He had wanted to spend some time with Shiro for a while and now that he was finally getting to... it was nice. He did have to admit that. It was nice to be held by him again.

Shiro fell quiet for a moment or so, his eyes drifting off to the side. "I... I guess I'm just kind of... scared?" he murmured, feeling his cheeks flush with red the moment he vocalized the idea. "I mean, maybe not scared, but I'm nervous. Last time we went there she messed with my head... she made me hate you Lotor. And then because of that you were captured. Because I wasn't smart or strong enough to see past what she showed me."

He closed his eyes, pausing a moment. It was rare he would be able to bring up his guilt for what had happened without getting shut down by the gentle shushing from Lotor's lips. The same went for his shame of draining Lotor of his grace -- he never really let Shiro dwell on it, much like Shiro never let Lotor dwell on his own dismal thoughts. Shiro just took a second or so to compose himself, shook his head, and then opened his eyes back up again.

"I want to see our past for real," Shiro said, holding Lotor a little closer. "I want to see those things you told me about with my own two eyes more than... more than anything really, but Allura might lie again. She could lie to you, too. She could split us up or kill us both for breaking all those rules. I... God, I just feel like I finally got you back. I can't lose you again... I can't, Lotor."

He stopped, letting his words sink in for a moment -- settling a bit grimly in the atmosphere. Shiro could only suffer through it so long before he had to ease the tension. "Ew. Gross, cheesy cliche much? Sorry. Didn't mean to get too gushy there."

Lotor's head turned to look at Shiro, a small smile appearing on his lips.  
"I appreciate the sentiment," he said softly. "I do. But... we won't know anything if we don't try to confront her. We don't know anything and she isn't the most trustworthy source for this but she is our only source. She is the only chance that we have." He let his hand settle atop of Shiro's. His lips pressed a short and sweet kiss to Shiro's cheek. "Just put your faith in me. I have the correct memories and if our memories of being together don't sync up perfectly, we'll find something else to do."

He closed his eyes, letting his head stay on Shiro's shoulder, one hand moving to pet Atlas' soft fur. They could go when Shiro was ready, they had time to spare. The cool night air was a gentle pleasure he'd never get enough of.

"Never doubt yourself," he told Shiro. "It's not that you weren't smart or strong, it's that you were finally promised memories and the ones you received were false. You had no way of knowing any different. You had no idea what you were supposed to do if not just trust the memories and the kind face that gave them to you. So long as you don't trust her so blindly again, as long as you wait to process the memories and check their genuinity with me, we'll know whether or not she's lying again."

Shiro blushed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He hugged Lotor a little closer. "Okay," he sighed, running his hand up and down Lotor's chest — trailing idle patterns with his fingertips. "Sorry for being stupid, babe." Shiro gave a soft snort, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head a little. "I just called you 'babe'. What's next? 'Snookums'?"

He laughed again, his smile comfortable and genuine as he traced the muscles in Lotor's abdomen. Shiro didn't think he'd ever grow accustomed to the new lightness in his chest — he didn't think he could ever get used to not always feeling so weighed down by the ties to Hell. How easy it was to breathe and to laugh and to smile. He always found himself wondering if that had been what Lotor felt like.

Before... before Shiro took his grace of course.

"Can you tell me what you thought of me in life again? How you remembered me?" Shiro asked, fluttering open his eyes to he could look into Lotor's with a coaxing sort of pout. "Just to get myself hyped for learning about our memories of course. Was I handsome? I mean, I'm handsome now of course-" he cut himself off to giggle at the high brow the last joke inspired. "No, no. But really. Tell me about the memories again."

Lotor's eyes fixed on Shiro, running his hands through Shiro's soft hair. He wouldn't be able to get over how much better Shiro was now. It was an overwhelming change- suddenly everything about him was so different but so much better. He loved seeing how happy Shiro was, even if the weight from Shiro's chest was now his, even if the ache he imagined had come from Shiro's scars had now settled in places all over his body- places he didn't dare look at, along his stomach and neck and the worst ones were on his back, at his shoulder blades where his wings had once been. His skin had been so clean before, so smooth and without imperfection, and now...

If the aches had come from Shiro's scars, what had happened to him?

"Well," Lotor began softly, running his fingers through Shiro's hair. "You were a fighter. A gladiator. Strong, muscular, covered in scars, the same way that you are now. Your hair was all black back then and your eyes always seemed to shine when I spoke to you. I was the heir to the throne and my father was a monster, but every day I would come to visit you, after you emerged triumphant from your fights. My father would give you rewards and I would bring you them- food, drinks, even a wash basin one time, blankets, such like that to make your life a little more comfortable. And one day... we snuck away."

He smiled a little, telling the story as if he were speaking to a child before bed, his eyes closing as he ran through the memories in his head.  
"This isn't the party story, this is another, this was another time... this was at night. I can't remember the day or month but it must have been summer. I came to find you late at night. You were asking what I did when I came down, when prisoners went missing, and I took you through a secret doorway I'd had hidden in the dungeons and down a secret path of overgrown greenery and flowers, your hand in mine and a bag hidden under my cape. We were walking for five, six minutes, hand-in-hand, as I slowly lead you down the path to a garden. The palace gardens, a small area down the far end where we couldn't be seen from any of the windows, and I lit a lantern. We sat there, surrounded by flowers and fireflies in the dark, and I shared with you some of the sweets and pastries I'd purchased from the market that day. We ate, we fed each other, we drank wine, and we talked.

"You told me of your life, your family, your favourite foods that you'd been brought and how desperately you longed to be free. I told you of my father, my mother and the witch that took her place, and of how important the visits were to me. That I hadn't left because I wanted to stay with you, that I wanted to take you around everywhere I knew before I took the throne and abolished the gladiator fights and the severe punishments so that nobody would end up in your place, as you said you wished would happen. You told me of how important our meetings were to you, how you had another reason to keep fighting, that sometimes... sometimes it was worth the bloodshed and the pain to spend that time with me. We lay down in our little space in the garden and we looked at the stars, my head on your chest, your hands running through my hair, and I told you all the constellations that I knew, the names of the stars, everything. And when I looked up at you, with the reflection of the stars in your eyes... I felt like I had found a home. We kissed then, wrapped up in each other's arms, and perhaps we did a little more than kissing... but we had to return eventually. The rest of the night is a blur, but I remember going to sleep that night with wine buzzing through my system and love in my heart."

He didn't look at Shiro, keeping his eyes fixed on the stars above, imagining for a moment that they were there again, that he could smell the pollen and the flowers, hear the buzzing of the fireflies, the chirping of crickets, and that he could see the stars. That when he was close to Shiro, he could hear the beating of his heart. That he still had a pulse and when he grew near to Shiro his heart pounded. That he'd found a home. That he was at peace.

And when he opened his eyes, for a moment he expected to be there. He'd grown accustomed to the aching sting of disappointment but... this, perhaps, was almost heartache. To not be there, to not be so newly in love, to still have a lightness in his body when he was with Shiro. To not be who he was, where he was, with these wretched horns and talons, with the fangs that dug into his gums if he didn't file them down every other day, with this short and choppy hair that screamed 'Monster' for the harm he had committed.

But being with Shiro made it better.

"Do you want to hear another one?"

Shiro watched him, his eyes soft and round, brow furrowed and lips quirked into the most endearing of gentle smiles.

"I... I think I'd rather see the next one for myself," he murmured.

He leaned in close, pressing his lips against Lotor's in an impulsive sort of way — just wanting to lie beside him in the grass and kiss him until he couldn't breathe anymore. Until the end of time itself, really. Shiro kissed his lower lip and then his upper lip and then proceeded to simply kiss him deeper, shifting his weight so he leaned over Lotor. So he could cradle the back of Lotor's head and slip his other arm beneath the small of Lotor's back to hold him closer.

When he finally broke the kiss, Shiro was breathless, but that didn't stop him from trailing his lips from Lotor's down to the curve of his jaw and then to his neck and then to his collarbone, tugging the neck of Lotor's shirt so he could try to kiss a little lower. He only stopped when he heard Lotor offer a little giggle at Shiro's foolish display of affection. Shiro laughed back and traveled back up Lotor's body, leaning his forehead down to press against his lover's.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself," Shiro hummed. "Your voice is so pretty. You could read off every page of the dictionary and get the same reaction from me — I swear."

A small smile on Lotor's lips, he wrapped his arms around Shiro a little more and pressed closer. "You're too easy to entertain," he said softly, sweetly. "But I promise you that I will read anything to you that you want to hear. Perhaps I could recite something like Shakespeare?" Lance had been studying Romeo and Juliet at school and Lotor had indulged himself in reading the book for entertainment. "Write you sonnets, perhaps?" He leant in again, pressing their lips together gently, a small smile on his lips even as they were against Shiro's.

The sincerity of the compliments mixed in with the kisses were the first things to make him smile properly in a while.

"You're too kind, Shiro."

"Only to you, angel face."

Shiro gave a soft wink before leaning in to kiss Lotor back. "You should write me sonnets," he said when he leaned back, lifting a hand to twirl Lotor's hair about his finger. "I'm all soft and dainty now. Like a nerd. I'm supposed to love poetry."

He snickered when Lotor rose his brow high on his head. "Oh don't give me that look. You were totally a nerd and you still are," he said, watching Lotor roll his eyes. "But I mean that in the nicest way, babe. I love you and your Shakespeare, and I would love to listen to you read it to me." Shiro cringed a little and shook his head. "I'm doing it again. God, punch me next time I start to sound like a lovesick idiot."

"No, never. It's sweet of you, and I await the day that you can say something sweet without immediately getting embarrassed and going back on whatever you just said." He offered up a little smile, learning over and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Though perhaps Shakespeare should wait. I don't even have a Shakespeare book to recite to you yet. And I'm not sure you'd be able to handle the sheer sappiness of some of the stories just yet, with your current disgust for even the slightest uttering of affection." He pressed another kiss to his Shiro's forehead, eyes closing, relaxing against him, basking in the warmth of the embrace, in the soft ambience of the night, of the wind that rustled through the swaying trees and his hair.

He let his eyes fix on Shiro.  
"But I won't forgive you for calling me a nerd."

Shiro pushed out his bottom lip in a dramatic sort of pout. "Aw, you won't?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. "I meant it in the best way, I swear. I mean, it's perfect that you're a nerd. I'm a jock -- it's your textbook romcom. Minus the horns." Shiro reached his hand up to give two little taps to his horn with his index finger, smirking a little. "Most romcoms aren't about angels and demons. And that's even if we can call ourselves those. I don't even know what we are anymore."

He noticed Lotor's eyes drift off a moment at that last part, and felt his previous boldness falter. Shiro was quick to jump back into the conversation and divert it somewhere else.

"But really, what can I do to make you forgive me? Even if I was telling the truth about your nerdiness." He leaned up and pressed his lips to the curve of Lotor's jaw. When he spoke again, his words washed over Lotor's skin in the gentlest of ways. "I could kiss you. We could take this party inside and then I could kiss every last inch of you. Would that make things better?"

Lotor looked over at Shiro and considered taking him up on his offer, letting himself be dragged back inside for god knows what, but then the aching of his body seemed to come back to him and, still too anxious to check for any sign of scars, he decided it would be better if he refused. He didn't want to suddenly be covered in scars he hadn't seen for millenia. He'd rather that he kept covered up instead of running the risk of seeing them. He didn't want to see them, knowing they'd be hideous.

He didn't want Shiro to see them and think that he was hideous.

"Perhaps we could just stay here for a while," he said, reaching up and beginning to run his fingers through Shiro's hair, leaning in to press a short kiss to his soft lips. Oh, how he loved the feeling of Shiro's lips on his own, and how much nicer they felt now... he loved it. He loved Shiro, and how nice it felt to be able to think that without being guilty or repressing it. How good it felt to think that and know that Shiro loved him, too. "We could just stay here, in each other's arms, and rest under the moon until the sun comes up. Then we can go in the morning, and we can bring Atlas with us."

Shiro smiled at him. "That sounds like a plan," he said in a hummed sort of agreement, kissing Lotor back with soft yet intimate pecks. He drew his legs up some more, his tail absently winding around Lotor's leg as if it would bring them closer. Lotor's hand in his hair and their warm embrace finally drew the purrs Shiro had previously been trying to stifle, the low rumble kick starting in his chest cavity. Whatever Lotor had done with him with that grace of his, it, unluckily, didn't manage to wash away his ability to purr like a domesticated house cat. Shiro found it infuriating, but he didn't whine about it anymore, really. Lotor liked it so much -- he supposed that was a plus of sorts.

"We can get frozen yogurt after Allura," Shiro sighed into the quiet night air around them. He settled his eyes closed, and laid against Lotor's chest, angling his head so his new horns didn't poke Lotor in the face -- there had been a fair amount of bloody noses from those damned things and Shiro's clumsiness. "And then we can come back here and just cuddle some more... how's that sound?"

Lotor's eyes fixed on Shiro and he began running his fingers through Shiro's hair to urge more of those sweet and soft purrs.  
"That sounds perfect," he said quietly. "Cuddling, visiting Allura, and then we can get some... frozen yogurt. That sounds perfect."


	27. Be Still My Foolish Heart

The world around Shiro, Lotor, and Atlas shifted, the air about their odd little trio folding and bending like fabric and then melting away. The floor of the warehouse wrenched from beneath their feet, and was replaced with the glossy marble of Allura's fine temple. Shiro felt both the temperature and the atmosphere change as the setting did. It was warmer — more peaceful than the warehouse, despite everything Allura had done to them in that temple. It was her magic... though Shiro had to admit it didn't affect him as heavily as it had last time. His feet met the solid ground of Allura's temple, he felt the warmth and peace rush for him, but then... but then Shiro managed to brush it off. It didn't grip him in an iron grasp anymore. It didn't make him desperate. Shiro didn't know how that made him feel as he finally materialized in Allura's realm, Lotor on one side, Atlas on the other.

He spotted her right away. Glowing and graceful and emitting nothing but a serene sort of peacefulness. Shiro didn't let it get to his head, though. He cocked his head forwards, and narrowed his eyes.

"Hey," he said, frowning. Even if he could still feel his anger for the lies and the manipulation, Shiro was still a bit inclined to show her some respect. He managed a gentle bow of sorts, just bending his knees a bit and ducking his head, even if it made his skin crawl. "Goddess Allura of... lions or something. We have something to talk about, miss."

Lotor didn't bow this time, or even make an effort to correct Shiro.

Allura turned to face the two of them, a small frown on her lips for a moment as she wondered what they could possibly have been doing back here, and so soon after she'd tried to separate them, but she didn't dwell on it and instead let herself smile.  
"I think that we do, yes. I can see that there has been a lot of changes with you two. Shiro, I must admit that I didn't expect to see you so full of grace, and I think I would be speaking for everyone in the heavens if I told you that you deserved it. It's nice to see you walking without the burden of the weight of the world upon your shoulders."

She glanced at Lotor, met his eyes, and figured that there was no need to comment.

 

"Flattery won't work," Lotor said, one hand moving to take Shiro's as if it was a way to keep control of him. She smiled, seemingly harmless and innocent.  
"It isn't flattery, I'm being sincere. You'll be inclined to be suspicious with your new lack of grace but I'm quite proud of Shiro. This is how I felt that it was meant to be, after all." Her eyes fixed on Shiro again, her tone soft and compelling, the lightness of the atmosphere seeming to get so much lighter as she smiled at him and told him, "I'm proud of you, Shiro."

Shiro let his eyes flick off to the side, looking down at the ground rather than the glowing presence of kindness and warmth before him. He tried not to let it get to him, but even with his refined soul, it was hard for her words to not feel nice. For them to make his cheeks warm and his lips to want to tug into a smile of sorts. However, his hand tightened around Lotor's, and Shiro suppressed his gratitude, only allowing himself to show a twitch of a smile.

"I... uh, thanks," he mumbled, nodding his head. "It isn't me you should be proud of, though. It was Lotor — he gave me his grace." Shiro squeezed his hand a little tighter, and stood up straight from his respectful bow. He looked back to Allura, mustering up a frown.

He tried to be angry — to hang onto his grudge — but when he spoke again his voice was calm and collected. Shiro couldn't tell if it was his new soul or Allura's power over them... or maybe a mix of both. Either way, Shiro spoke confidently, without the hysterical growl of anger or uncontrollable flame in his eyes.

"Allura, you gave me the wrong memories. I'm just here for the real ones," he said, sighing a little. Atlas gave a whine as if she meant to back up his claim. "I'm not here to fight or to yell at you. I just... I just want to truth. And so does Lotor. After everything you've done and everything we've been through, I'm sure it can't be too much to ask."

"Ah, I supposed that you would have come for that eventually but i didn't expect it to be so soon," she said with a small frown, gesturing to the seat that they had shared last time. "Go on, settle down. I have no reason to refuse now that you know what I would be doing."

Lotor began to the seat and lead Shiro along with him, kissing his knuckles softly before he sat down.   
"Remember," he said softly to Shiro. "Confirm with me whether or not they're the actual memories before getting emotional, okay? It wouldn't be possible to have influence over both of our minds," Lotor said to Shiro before pressing a kiss to his forehead and pulling back, his hand linked with Shiro's as he sat down and prepared for the memories.

Shiro leaned back in Allura's throne beside him, settling closer to Lotor. Atlas sat beside the throne, settling her head down on the armrest and looking up at Shiro with those new blue eyes of hers. His tail was already winding a bit anxiously around Lotor's leg, his breath growing long and shaky as he tried to ready himself for something that had gone so horribly wrong the last time they had tried it. He nodded however, squeezing Lotor's hand tighter.

"Won't freak out this time," he said, smiling. "I promise."

Allura approached the two of them, eyes fixing on Shiro.  
"Are you ready?"

He turned back to her, feeling his heart leap a bit as he watched her hands reach for his face. The moment they'd touch his temples, there would be no going back. Shiro's hand tightened against Lotor's. As did his tail against Lotor's leg. However, Shiro looked up into Allura's eyes, and offered a firm nod.

"Yes."

The next thing Shiro knew, her hands had settled upon his head, his eyes had slipped closed, and he was falling through time.

~~~

"What are you doing here?"

It was a week after they had been caught sneaking away from the party. A week after Shiro had watched Lotor take the hits for him, A week of sleeping in the pits. It was the next part in the story Allura had been laying before them -- the next memory in the sequence that was their life.

Shiro's nervous, yet inawed voice was soft as he looked up at Lotor before him, noting all of the bruises Zarkon had covered his face with. Even with the marks, he was still as prepossessing as ever. Dressed in handsome clothing, bareing a warm smile and sparkling eyes. Emitting the pure essence of ethereal beauty. Shiro was sure he looked something awful in comparison. A week in the pits did nothing for his appearance. He was dirty, his hands and feet smeared with all the dirt he hadn't had the care to wash off. His hair clotted with the sand and his eyes bloodshot from all the days in the dark.

He hadn't waited for Lotor to come sit with him for a few reasons. The first was because he hadn't had a proper meal since his punishment, and the smell of his dinner reward seized his achingly concave stomach with a grip too strong to ignore. A rather fat portion of cod straight from the palace fish pond, so fresh it hadn't even been salted for storage, alongside two slices of sweet bread and some goat milk cheese. Shiro had started eating the second the guards had slipped it into the flap of his cell, with his dirty hands and all.

The second reason, of course, was because he didn't think Lotor would come. Not after what had happened.

Shiro looked down at his half eaten plate, biting the inside of his cheek.

"I... I figured you wouldn't want anything to do with me," he said softly. "I never got the chance to apologize. Or to thank you. I'm so sorry, Prince Lotor, he hurt you because of me."

Lotor's features seem to have fixed on a look of slight pity and a pained kind of guilt. He murmured some little 'don't call me that' under his breath but paused a moment before he spoke up properly to address what Shiro had said.

"He hurt me because of my own mistake," Lotor said, pulling open the door to once again enter the cell, moving to kneel down beside Shiro. "I knew it was risky to return that way but it was quicker and I assumed he wouldn't come hunting for you. I was careless and I almost had you beaten for it and I didn't want that to happen to you." He reached out one hand and settled it, tentatively, upon Shiro's hand. "Don't blame yourself for my mistake."

His hand pulled away shortly, before Shiro could respond, and he moved his hand away and dug around in his pocket for his handkerchief and on his belt he claimed a flask of water, dousing the handkerchief with it before he took Shiro's hand once more, starting to clean the dirt from it.

He remained composed, somehow, during every visit. When he wasn't hurrying to save lives or perform surgery he was so perfectly calm, as if he never had a thing that could affect him. He just cleaned off Shiro's hand, not including what he couldn't get out from under Shiro's nails, and moved to clean his other one before pushing the almost empty tray of food back toward him in case he wanted any more.  
"I've told you before that he hits me often, haven't I? People rarely believed me when I'd tell them as a child, so if I'm honest I didn't expect you to take my word on it. I was expecting you to tell me that he wouldn't do that to his own flesh and blood but... you didn't. You listened, and you sympathised. I wanted to come here to thank you for that."

Shiro nodded his head a bit, eyes down on his clean hands, feeling the ghost of Lotor's touch still grace against his skin. He blushed, swallowing hard as he gambled for something to say.

"Flesh and blood does not make someone family. Zarkon may be related to you, and you to him, but he is no father." Shiro reached for the last sliver of bread, popping it into his mouth and leaning back, finally lifting his head and his gaze to meet Lotor's watchful stare. "There's no need to thank me, your-... Lotor." Shiro closed his eyes and let his lips quirk into the first smile he had expressed in a whole week. "Forgive me. It's difficult to get used to."

He opened his eyes, sighing a little before he spoke again. "I was surprised the Emperor rewarded me for today's fight. I performed poorly — he even managed to knick my arm." Shiro nodded down to his poorly wrapped bicep, the wound beneath the bandages stinging every time he'd flex his muscle. The guards had been quick to patch him up the moment he had left the arena, leaving no time for proper doctoring. "Though I suppose I made up for it with his death. The crowd always goes... wild when I go for the head. My only real concern now is my injury messing with my next few fights."

Lotor smiled a little, moving one hand to Shiro's arm and holding gently to his bicep before he leant in and pressed a soft kiss to the wound through the bandage, cautious enough to not let it hurt.

"I'm sure it won't hold you up much," Lotor said softly. "You could fight with one arm and you'd still be victorious. You're too strong to lose, even if not physically, mentally. You're too phenomenal to let any kind of an injury keep you down."

Shiro's face was hot with a rather powerful blush, his eyes trained down on the floor. He cleared his throat, and then swallowed hard, shrugging his shoulders a little.

"Th-thank you." He was smiling a crooked sort of grin, still a bit too flustered to flick his gaze up to meet Lotor's. "You're too kind."

Pulling away, the quirk of his lips still present on his face, Lotor straightened up somewhat.

"I've been thinking," he said softly. "In a week or so, I might be able to request that you get to roam free about the palace for an evening. I would be your escort, of course, and I was wondering if you would like that? Perhaps we may even have the house to ourselves."

It was then Shiro finally managed to look up at Lotor. His eyes were wide with surprise — a hopeful sort of surprise that made his irises twinkle, just like they had when he had visited the stream. But the second they seemed to flare, the sparkle died out, petering away like a stifled flame. He drew his shoulders up a bit, smile fading into a wary sort of frown.

"What makes you think Zarkon will allow that? After what we did during the party..." Shiro trailed off, and then looked away, inwardly chastising himself for letting his hopes shimmer too brightly. "I don't want you to get in trouble again. Please, Lotor, I don't want you getting hurt like that again."

Lotor offered up a small smile.

"It'll happen again, but I wouldn't mind if that was the reason." He managed a smile, as if that was something sweet for him to say, as if it didn't imply that he was so used to being treated this way that he'd be fine with it so long as the reason behind it was adequate. As if he wasn't explicitly stating that Shiro was so important to him that he was worth getting beaten for. "But... perhaps it should wait. My father, in a couple of months, he has a plan to visit Altea and discuss trading. Allura wants to stop being sold weapons, she wants to outlaw most of them, but my father evidently opposes that as he manufactures most of them. He should be gone five days at minimum, so I can let you out. The guards and sentries won't question it if you look intimidated or nervous. If they do, as much as I hate to say it, I am my father's son and I do know how to deal with them to get them to stop asking questions. Trust me."

Lotor moved one hand to settle on Shiro's gently, running his thumb over Shiro's knuckles.  
"I know what I'm doing. I would give anything to be able to spend real time with you. Perhaps we could go to the market together, too? There are some beautiful stalls that I'd love for you to look at, and I'll buy you anything you want."

Perhaps it was the confidence that curled around his words as he spoke, or the calm manner he had when he promised that it would be fine, that it would be worth it, but it seemed suddenly so difficult not to trust Lotor. He reached his other hand up to Shiro's face, running his thumb over his cheekbone as he cupped his cheek. When he spoke again, his eyes shined with hopefulness and optimism that Shiro would say yes, that Shiro would agree to his offer.  
"Would you like that?"

Shiro watched him for a few moments, some of that innocent hope returning to his features as everything Lotor said ran over again in his head. His system seemed to flush with electric giddiness at the idea of it all -- as though lightning had been shot through his veins. He found his lips curling into a smile before he could even begin to process the dangers of Lotor's daring little plan. The excitement to be free of his cell... to see the palace... to see the city. The markets and the people. It all overwhelmed him with childish sort of elation.

"Would I like that?" he echoed, leaning his head into Lotor's hand. "Lotor... that would make me one of the happiest men on this Earth."

The little smile on Lotor's lips became a beaming grin, as if he'd not expected his optimistic wishes to come true, taking Shiro's hand and tenderly pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

"Thank you," Lotor said softly, as if he felt the need to thank Shiro even if the agreement wouldn't come to use for a matter of months and even then it could still be retracted at any time. Just the idea that Shiro had considered it- and currently didnt see any problems- was enough for him.

Shiro smiled, trying to ease his system back down -- trying to ignore the tangle of anticipation that coiled up in his chest and made his heart feel as light as air.

"We would have to be careful," he said, still grinning despite his cautionary tone. "And there are certainly dangers of going behind Zarkon's back... but if he is away I don't suppose it can do much harm. A taste of freedom is worth the danger... my danger, at least. Just as long as you don't take all of the blame if we do manage to get caught. That is my only catch." Shiro fell silent a moment or so, flicking his eyes off to the side as he thought about it.

"Though I suppose that means I have to survive all of my fights until then," he mused in a quiet hum. "Death is a strong motivator... but I think you might have found me something I can hold onto a little tighter."

He leaned back a little and cocked his brow, his smile just barely on the edge of becoming a smirk.

"There's no need to worry, though. I always win."

~~~

And then, about three weeks later, Shiro lost his fight.

Perhaps it wasn't a loss. Shiro still killed the man he was fighting. In the last second, he had lashed out with his sword, and caught the other gladiator in the throat with the sharper end, cutting his head clean off with one mindless slash of his weapon.

But that wasn't before the other gladiator got him.

He didn't know why he let himself mess up. Perhaps it had been that it was the weather -- he had realized the moment he stepped into the arena it had been a bit more humid than normal. Perhaps it had been the straps of his sandals were too loose and he slipped. Maybe it was just that the sun had caught in his eyes for a brief moment, allowing his competitor to get the upper hand. Shiro couldn't really remember. Everything had been happening too fast for his mind to process.

All he knew was that he blocked one strike from the enemy sword. And then, for some reason, for the first time in his entire life of being a gladiator, he wasn't able to block the second. And then there was that white hot, striking pain...

And then there was blood.

There was so much blood.

It was then Shiro's memory grew muddled. He had screamed. He had fallen. He had watched the other gladiator go for the kill... and then he simply lashed out with a rather lucky swipe of his own sword. The blood from his slashed throat sprayed over Shiro's face as the body toppled over him. The crowd was roaring.

Then Shiro was surrounded. He was somewhere new. Darker, cooler, clammier. Somewhere that smelled of dirty sweat and dirt and urine beneath the metallic scent of gushing blood. He knew he was in the gladiator dungeons, but he couldn't quite tell where all the hands had been coming from. Why they had been touching him and moving him and settling him down on a hard table. He couldn't quite tell why everything hurt. Why his head spun and whirled and tilted like an uneven spinning top. He couldn't tell if he had really been making all of those noises -- all those pained groans and scared whimpers -- or if it had just been his own imagination.

He couldn't tell anything really.

But Shiro knew he was in danger, and that was all it took.

Shiro tried to push up from the table, but his body wouldn't cooperate, so instead he wrenched to the side with a growl, away from the hands that tried so desperately to hold him down. Blood spurted from the right side of his body -- Shiro was too delirious with pain and blood loss and adrenaline to tell exactly where it had been coming from, but he knew it was there. The hands pulled him back to the table -- Shiro felt them clasp onto his ankles and his left wrist... but not his right. He kicked hard with his feet, freeing himself from a grasp and slamming his sandaled foot into something with a loud crunch of snapping bone. There were shouts, and then the pressure on his chest and against his body grew stronger as the hands became what had to be iron grips.

Shiro struggled again, but then something hard slammed into the side of his face, whipping his head to the side and causing his spasming body to collapse back down onto the table. Fear encased him, trapping him. Strangling him. He couldn't breathe -- the air that he frantically ripped in and out of his parted lips was empty. Shiro gave a mangled cry for help in his native language, something he hadn't spoken since his captors taught him their own, and started to struggle again.

He needed someone.

He needed someone to take him to his cell so he could sit and clear his mind. Tend to whatever wound that other gladiator had given him on his own. To sit and wait for Lotor. Lotor would be coming down to join him for dinner any minute... Shiro really needed to get back into his cell. He didn't have time for those hands holding him down. He didn't have time for some uproar over some minor wound. He didn't have time for any of that.

"L... Lotor... I need... I need... him..."

The words wouldn't come out. The hands ignored him. Shiro felt his entire system seized with terror at the sudden feeling of helplessness. He tried to kick again, but his strength was draining quickly. The hands were growing stronger against him, holding him down, pushing on his lungs. Suffocating him.

"Lotor!"

By then, Lotor had already been running and pushing past people to get to Lotor. His jacket lay by Shiro's cell, on the floor, and his sleeves were already rolled up by the time he got there. He tugged his hair up, pushing his way to the front, the delirious and desperate call of his name having been more than enough to get him into action, to get him to Shiro's side. His right side, where the blood came from.

Where his arm used to be.

"Shit," Lotor hissed under his breath, taking the belt from around his waist and hooking it around Shiro's shoulder, cutting off the circulation to what little of his upper bicep was still there. To where the blood was gushing out rather excessively- Shiro might need a blood transfusion, but Lotor was relieved to know that they shared a blood type. He'd looked over Shiro's files extensively when they'd first met- everything that they knew about him had been documented in the case of an escape so posters and information could be put up everywhere.

He hadn't expected it to come in handy for a situation like this.

"I'm here," he said to Shiro, moving one hand to cup his cheek while the guard to his left tightened the strap further and further, waiting until it would move no more and the blood flow began to weaken before it was fixed in place. Shiro gave a quiet little groan, his eyes fluttering as he leaned into Lotor's palm, feeling the warmth of his touch spread across his chilled skin. "I need to cauterise the wound," he said to the person on his right, a guard he bribed often, who nodded quickly and disappeared. "Whatever's biggest that I could cover the whole wound with!"

His eyes fell upon Shiro again, Shiro who was still in shock and still bleeding and still seemed to weak. Shiro, who still squirmed helplessly against his captors but had relaxed a lot since he'd heard Lotor's voice. Even if Shiro's fighting was already so weak and pathetic that it did nothing, he could see that there was a little less uneasiness now that Lotor was here.

He studied the wound, moving one hand to the shoulder.  
"Pass me a weapon. A sword, an axe, anything, but be sure that it's sanitary. The area around the wound is flushed and warm, and I'm not taking the risk of an infection so I'll have to amputate it." He extended one hand and waited for the sword to be pressed into his palm. His fingers clasped around the hilt and he aligned the blade of the sword with the wound left.

 

He closed his eyes, took in a breath. One short prayer, even if he were the only one of his company to follow the Altean teachings and religions, would ease his nerves just a little before he did what he was about to do. He knew was going to save Shiro's life. Whatever it took.  
"May the Ancients bless this surgery, this victim, and this life. May this be as painless as possible and provide swift healing." And he pressed the blade down.

He took off a little over two inches, leaving only a little beyond the shoulder, and handed the sword back after it had been used to take a pan. It had been heated enough to be used to cauterise the wound, and with Lotor's clean slice it would be easy to press it flat against the wound. So he did. Ignoring the steaming sizzle of flesh against the hot surface, of the way Shiro writhed at the pain and screamed in agony at the burning his surface pressed to his skin, Lotor waited until the sizzling had gone quiet and the pan had lost most of its head before passing it back. The wound had been sealed shut a little. It was good- though it was far from perfect- but with a dressing over it should be more than fine.

Lotor moved one hand to Shiro's cheek. He checked his pulse for a moment, finding his heartbeat was rapid but still there, and slapping his cheek a couple of times to ensure that Shiro wouldn't fall asleep.  
"Shiro! Shiro!" he said, shaking him. "Keep your eyes open, look at me. Listen to me. I'm going to fix this. Just keep your eyes open for me, okay? Keep your eyes on me."

Shiro gave another sickly sort of groan, his fluttering eyes rolling back as his consciousness seemed to melt from his system. He tried to cling onto anything that would keep him awake. The splitting pain of his arm. Lotor's voice, distant and muddled, but there. He tried to reach his hands up to Lotor's, but found that only one seemed to cooperate -- and even then he still had to struggle against the grip of one of the guards holding him down. Shiro whimpered, gathering the last of his strength to try and lash out again, whether it would be with his hand or with his feet.

He just wanted to be alone with Lotor... he just wanted all the voices and the sounds and the hands to go away so he could sit up, catch his breath, and ask Lotor what was wrong with him. Why he hurt so bad and why Lotor had burned him like that. Why his head was so light and why he couldn't move his right arm.

"Lotor..." Shiro rasped weakly, trying to lean up -- trying to lean close to him. The guards wouldn't let him move, he simply writhed in their grasps. "M...make them stop... I don't... I don't know what's h-happening..."

Lotor raised one hand.  
"Release him," he ordered, eyes still fixed on Shiro as his other hand moved to cup Shiro's cheek. "He's no threat. Release him, return to your posts, I will deal with the rest."

 

There was hesitatance before compliance, where some guards didn't want to, or perhaps still thought Shiro was a threat, but Lotor was serious and they were obligated to serve him so they did, and they pulled back, and they let him begin to dress the wound without their support. Lotor wrapped everything up with the bandages, humming softly as he looked over to Shiro.  
"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, running his fingers through Shiro's hair to push it from his forehead. It was the first time in a while he'd worked on a conscious patient. He was glad Shiro hadn't passed out- that would have provided a whole new range of risks. "Not too bad, I would hope. I haven't put this much effort into looking after you for you to die so soon." He managed a smile, forcing some endearing lightness into his tone even if he didn't feel any of it. He just wanted Shiro to feel better. He just hoped that he would.

The moment the guards had let him go, Shiro's trembling hand had found Lotor's arm, and had clenched down tightly against it. His fingers had curled into the cloth of Lotor's shirt, squeezing tighter and tighter with every new wave of pain from his arm. He let out shallow, racking breaths, hiccuping back his pitiful sobs as he tried to stay awake -- tying his consciousness onto Lotor's voice, letting it be his tether to the waking world. Something to cling to so he wouldn't slip into the darkness that called to him and slowly tunneled his vision.

"H-how bad is it?" he asked in a strained sort of whimper, voice breathy and hazed with his own hysteria. His teeth clattered. His skin had been drained of color, cool and pale and clammy from blood loss. Shiro didn't answer any of Lotor's quips or questions only because he didn't really have the right mind to. Everything was still spinning... though, at least without the presence of all those guards, it hadn't been spinning quite as fast. "It hurts... God dammit it hurts. I didn't see... I didn't see what happened. Can I still fight tomorrow? How b... how bad is it, Lotor?"

Lotor feigned a smile.  
"Nothing can keep you down for long, Shiro," he said softly, though his voice was quiet and so full of love and regret and guilt that it almost trembled. "We can discuss your injury when your head is a little clearer but trust me, I don't think anything will keep you down. This, for you, will be nothing but a scratch. I'm sure of it."

He hoped his words carried conviction. He certainly couldn't feel confidence when he said something like that.

 

But nonetheless he finished dressing Shiro's arm and settled one hand on his shoulder- the uninjured one.

"Do you require rest? I should take you to your cell first- I've brought another few blankets for you to keep you comfortable, and the pillow from last week should be good for this. You'll be out of the ring for a few days at most but trust me." His eyes fixed on Shiro, who was so weak but so desperate to keep fighting, so desperate for this freedom that he was teased with that Lotor didn't have the strength to tell him wasn't real. "You'll be up and fighting soon enough. Nothing can keep you from your desire for freedom for long."

Shiro nodded, closing his eyes as a relieved sort of smile broke across his features. He gave a huff of a sob, but forcefully choked back the rest of his tears, releasing his hold from Lotor's arm and instead trailing his trembling hand around Lotor's body in a weak sort of hold. His fingers curled into the back of Lotor's jacket, and he tipped his head back, panting harshly through his lips.

"Will you stay with me?" he asked in a whisper. "J... just until I fall asleep... please..."

Lotor smiled, bringing Shiro from the work surface to stand, hooking one arm around his waist and holding tightly to him. He stood on Shiro's left, wrapping one arm around him and looking up at him with a smile.  
"I'll be here until you sleep," he promised, starting to take Shiro back to his cell. "And I'll make sure to come back here in the morning, if I can. I might be able to avoid seeing tomorrow's gladiator fight and if I do, I'll come to see you."

They reached Shiro's cell and Lotor pulled open the door with his free hand. He sat Shiro down, leant against the bars, and lay out a couple of blankets flat against the hard floor and moved Shiro to lie on them, his head propped up on a pillow. He then lay a couple more blankets over Shiro, moving one hand to cup his cheek again.  
"Take your time to fall asleep. I'll stay here with you for as long as you want me to."

Shiro nodded woozily, brow furrowing as he leaned into Lotor's hand, eyes shut into a fluttering sort of close as he felt his panicked system finally begin to relax. The blankets were a comfort -- a luxury he hadn't been exposed to all that much. Lotor's presence was an even better luxury. A sublime feeling that made his pulse slow and his fear subside. He swallowed hard, the chattering of his teeth finally easing as the warmth of the blankets chased away the chill. His arm still beat and throbbed with pain at every thump of his heart, but Shiro could feel the veils of sleep slowly cover up the feeling.

"Thank you..." Shiro could feel himself whispering.

"You're an angel, Lotor..."

~~~

The next time Shiro woke, Lotor was at his side again. Whether or not the prince had stayed with him the entire time he had been asleep, Shiro didn't know. He did know, however, what a relief it had been to see Lotor's tired smile awaiting him as he fluttered his eyes open. How nice the hand on his left shoulder felt in comparison to the relentless ache of his right. How Shiro's own lips had quirked into his own slightest little smile before the pain really had a chance to set in. Of course, after he was met with the throbbing of his arm and the splitting of his head, Shiro's eyes snapped shut and his lips twisted into a grimace, a low groan bubbling up through his lips as the sluggish pain of his body finally came to him.

"Lotor," Shiro murmured in spite of himself. His throat felt dry and scratchy -- his mouth devoid of moisture. "It's nice to see you. What, uh..." Shiro trailed off to swallow and clear his throat, finally fluttering open his pained eyes again. "What happened? It's all... patchy. I remember the fight. Blood. Pain. Did I win, at least?"

"You won," Lotor confirmed, his voice softer than usual, but he didn't go into any more details. He pushed a glass of water into Shiro's hand. "Drink. Then we'll talk about what happened. This is something that you should be a little more awake to hear. You won your fight, yes, but with a price." He moved to sit a little closer to Shiro, once again running his fingers through his hair to push them from his face and waiting for some further response, for some nod of agreement and for Shiro to drink the water he was offered. He sat beside Shiro, close enough to block off the sight of Shiro's right arm, desperately not wanting him to see it yet, knowing how horrible it would be for this realisation to set in.

He wanted to tell Shiro. He wanted to make it clear that he'd still be there to support him and that he still had faith in him. He had a project upstairs that he was working on for Shiro's sake, and he needed to keep Shiro calm for the next few days before he brought it up. It was a little something to not only show his appreciation for Shiro but to show him how much he cared for him. This gift, when it was made, he was sure Shiro would appreciate.

His eyes flickered to the hand still limp by Shiro's side, fingers weakly curled around the glass, and he picked it up and tipped Shiro's head back just a little as he brought the glass to his lips.  
"Drink," he urged softly. "You need it."

The glass at Shiro's lips prevented him from asking what Lotor meant by 'price', so really, he could do nothing but follow Lotor's instructions. He took ginger sips of the water Lotor gave to him, eyes settling into a contented close at the taste of it against his dry tongue -- the cool feeling of it as it slipped down Shiro's sore throat. He wished he had more, really, but Lotor gave the water to him sparingly. Tipping it back every few moments so Shiro could breathe and let the water settle in his empty stomach. A bit over halfway, Lotor finally eased the glass back and set it down on the tray Shiro's meal had come on. Shiro could almost laugh at the sight of it -- it seemed as though he was back to stale bread and table scraps. Shiro couldn't even be mad at the sight of his measly meal. It was his fault he got hurt, anyways.

"I take it Zarkon didn't like the fight," Shiro said, voice a little stronger with the water in his system. "That or because I hurt one of the guards... I vaguely remember kicking one man the face." He gave a soft, tired laugh, and then hissed at the feeling of pain that laced throughout his muscles at even the slightest movement.

Shiro's brow furrowed a little, and he turned his head, trying to get a look at the injury. However, Lotor had blocked his arm, leaned down close and obscuring Shiro's line of sight.

He looked up at Lotor in a sort of nervous way, frowning.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, swallowing again. "It can't be that bad, can it? Let me see, Lotor. I'm sure I have uglier scars."

 

"The scar won't be the issue," Lotor murmured, moving one hand to cup Shiro's cheek. "Take a few breaths, okay? I... I did everything that I could but you were already... your arm..."

For once, Lotor couldn't bring himself to say it aloud and so he moved back, ever so slightly. The belt was still fixed around Shiro's shoulder to keep his arm as numb as possible. Lotor didn't even plan on removing it until Shiro's arm was healed over with flesh and skin instead of being a mighty open wound at the end of a stumpish shoulder.

"It was severed immediately upon impact. There was nothing for me to stitch or to hope for. I just go with it and do what I could if it meant that I could save your life. You would have bled out if I hadn't worked quickly and if I'd let the shock get to me it would have been far too dangerous. I'm sorry." Lotor's hand found Shiro's and he gently took ahold of it, concern woven into his features as he looked up at Shiro, hoping desperately that he wasn't going to lash out. He'd done everything that he could have done for Shiro.

Shiro's face was blank for a good few moments — his glazed over eyes stared emptily at the stump of his shoulder. He blinked. Then his blinked again, as if he was cleaning his eyes. But the image didn't change. His arm still stopped just below the shoulder, wrapped in bloody cloth and one of Lotor's leather belts. All the little color drained from him in an instant as the realization settled in, deep and cool and bitter, sinking in through his skin and poisoning his veins and his muscles. Shiro shook his head, barely moving, his wide, glassy eyes trained on his arm.

"No," Shiro murmured, his voice little. Just a cracked whimper. He didn't hear a word Lotor had said — his voice had just been a blurry presence in his peripheral. The shock had taken him over... it was an overwhelming entity that seemed to take him by the throat and hold him still in his frozen state. "I... I can't... This can't be right..."

He trailed off, not knowing how to defend his claim. The hand that had been in Lotor's squeezed back with a strength he shouldn't have had after losing so much blood and sleeping so many hours. Shiro shook his head again, looking up into Lotor's eyes — finally prying his own from the sight of his bloodied stump. He found them hot... burning with the stinging tickle of building tears. The last string of his dignity kept him from letting them fall, the effort to keep from crying making his body almost quake — his chest shuddered and his throat clicked when he swallowed. He grit his teeth so hard they ached as he looked up at Lotor, teary eyed and trembling.

"No," he echoed, lost of some of his previous conviction. "No. Please, Lotor... tell me this isn't right..."

"I'm sorry," was all that Lotor could manage to whimper out as he looked up at Shiro. "I did everything that I could have done, I swear. I had no choice. Your arm was already severed, I couldn't have aced it," he said again as if his words would suddenly be able to get through to Shiro.

He moved one hand to cup Shiro's cheek and sighed softly, resting his forehead against his in an attempt to keep him calm, to distract him, wanting to do whatever he could to make him feel a little better. He could see everything in his eyes. The defeat, the helplessness, The pure desperation. He would do anything it took to get that look out of Shiro's eyes. It made his stomach twist with guilt. He wouldn't have been able to save Shiro's arm, he had to keep reminding himself that.

Shiro closed his eyes, catching his breath in his throat and holding it there to keep from crying. It was as if the knowing made the pain hurt so much worse — he could feel the heavy ache of his split skin and torn muscles move from the gaping wound and up across his chest all the way to the other shoulder. Shiro gripped Lotor's hand so tightly both of their knuckles went white, his nails unconsciously digging into Lotor's skin as he tried to contain himself.

"It's okay," he gasped, his breath struggled. There was a lump of a sob building in his throat — it took everything in him to keep it from escaping through his trembling lips. "I-it's okay. Maybe it's a good thing. M-maybe it means I don't have to fight anymore... maybe... maybe Zarkon will let me free. I've done enough..."

His heart sank, however. Zarkon wouldn't free him after such a failure. He had to earn his freedom. The state of his meal proved to him he hadn't earned much of anything from the fight that cost him his limb.

Shiro held his breath again, clenching his eyes tight as he tried to swallow back his sobs. He focused on Lotor's forehead against his on. On Lotor's hand gripped oh so tightly in his own. On anything that would keep his strong facade from shattering.

Lotor let him grip on, letting him sob and tremble and moving one hand to run through his hair- the same way a mother would to a crying child- comforting, soothing. He leant to Shiro's ear, speaking in a quiet voice, his words soft and hesitant.  
"You can cry," he told him, quiet and hesitant, as if he didn't trust his voice when he spoke. "Nobody will see it but me. Nobody will know but me." He continued to coax his fingers through Shiro's hair, softly shushing and coaxing him still.

He could feel every little tremor that ran through Shiro's body.

"Crying isn't a sign of weakness or vulnerability," Lotor continued still when he had gotten no response from Shiro. "The strongest thing that we can let ourselves do it cry. You've spent so long hiding every feeling you've had. You're safe now, with me, in my arms. Cry all you need."

Shiro fluttered his eyes open, his bottom lip quivering as he prepares himself to try and tell Lotor that it was fine. That it was okay. That he didn't need to cry — that it would hurt his pride too much to do any good. But the moment he opened his mouth to speak and say all of those things, everything rushed up into his throat((not done brb. Shiro felt his composure crack, everything he had been holding back beginning to spill from every fissure. He closed his eyes, finding it useless to fight it all of. Shiro let his features crumple, turned his head to the side, and broke with a heavy sob.

It was only a moment before Shiro felt Lotor's arm loop delicately behind his back and pull him closer. Shiro took his hand from Lotor's and instead wrapped it around the back of Lotor's neck. He pressed his face into Lotor's chest, smelling his smell and feeling the texture of his clothes against his numb face. And then Shiro cried -- harder than he had ever cried, really. He let the pain and the horror flood his system. He let the loss of his arm overwhelm him. He let all the fear and the grief and the guilt catch up to him, everything he had been running from for years before. Shiro just clutched to Lotor and cried.

He sobbed like a child. Sniveling and breathless, trembling and pathetic. His fingers curled into the back of Lotor's shirt like they had done the day before, wrinkling it, most likely. His tears even soaked through the fabric of it. Shiro couldn't even find the will to care, his proper thought lost to the emotion of his break down. Shiro couldn't even feel the shame of it. Of his humiliating display. He simply gasped and whimpered into Lotor's shirt, his chest heaving with every breath, his body spasming with every powerful, heartfelt sob that would rock his system.

"What am I going to do?" he wailed helplessly into Lotor's chest, heaving in a gasp between each word. "I can't... I can't fight... I can't fight anymore... not like this. H-he won't let me go... not yet. I haven't earned it. Oh God... Lotor... What am I going to do?"

Lotor just held him, running his fingers through Shiro's hair, still being so cautious as he teased his nails through Shiro's hair.  
"What are you going to do?" he asked quietly, offering up a small smile as he cupped Shiro's cheek, pulling Shiro out of his chest and wiping the tears away from his eyes. "You're going to survive, as you always have done, as you always will do. You're going to pick yourself back up when you feel better, and you're going to learn to adapt. You're going to change, to improve, to learn to fight a new way, with one hand, and you're going to be just as wonderful at it as you would be with two hands."

Lotor brushed away the tears and offered a small smile, wanting nothing more than to press their lips together to console Shiro but not wanting to take the risk if he could avoid it. His own selfish desire to look after Shiro, to protect him and shield him away from the world almost got the better of him. Shiro had already been through so much. Was it selfless for Lotor to want to protect him or selfish to feel like he was the only person who could?  
"You're strong, you're capable, and by the Ancients I will never let you be alone again."

Shiro gave a racking sort of breath, shaking his head back and forth in Lotor's touch. It took him a few moments to find the words in his throat. A few minutes to get past the groggy mist of his hysteria. When he did, however, his voice was trembly and weak, scratchy and nasally.

"But I don't want to fight anymore!" he sobbed, snapping his eyes closed. His breath was fast, his lungs aching at the exertion of his panicked panting. "I'm so tired... I'm so tired of this, Lotor. I just want to be free. But I'll never be free if I don't win my f-fights and I can't... I... I'm not..." Shiro trailed off, feeling all his strength leave his system as his words slowed and his mind grew hazier.

He slumped, his grip on Lotor's shirt releasing a bit as he collapsed forwards in a pathetic mess of weak sniffles and soft whimpers. The only thing that kept him upright was Lotor's hands on his face -- the rest of his body sagged with exhaustion and defeat. Shiro settled his eyes closed and leaned into Lotor's touch, trying hard to collect his thoughts before he spoke again.

"Will you run with me? When... if I ever get freed... will you run with me? I won't be able to live with myself without... without you..."

Lotor managed a smile. It didn't reach his eyes but he hoped with Shiro's blurred tearful vision that he wouldn't notice. By the ancients, he hoped. The pain hidden in Lotor's eyes wasn't something that he wanted Shiro to catch onto. Oh, he would give everything for Shiro to be free but he knew that that wasn't truly the prize for success. It was a bribe, an empty promise, a hollow reward built up out of an illusion. If Shiro were to leave, to be free, he would be feared by everyone on the streets, he would be rejected, cast out. He would have the shadow of his crimes hanging over his head until he died. 

 

But then there was the issue that freedom didn't come. His father convinced all slaves that there was some light at the end of the tunnel for them, that they could dig their way out of the ditch if they tried hard enough, but it was like pushing a boulder up a hill that keeps getting steeper. Lotor could watch Shiro progress, and progress, and progress. He could watch him fight and kill and cry and fight and kill but no matter how much blood was spilled or how many bodies would lie in his wake, there was no true freedom. He would either meet a grizzly end in the arena or be taken to his alleged freedom- a noose decorated with flowers.

But Lotor still managed a smile. He pressed on regardless.  
"When you are a free man, I will run with you. I will run to the ends of the earth with my hand in yours. I will run, and run, and I will carry you when you tire if you promise to carry me. When you are a free man, we will leave, and we'll never return to this place, we'll never look back again. We'll never have to hear of the name Zarkon again. We'll be happy. Just keep fighting."

Just keep fighting.

~~~

"Lotor... what is this?"

Shiro's words were caught in his throat as he stared at the piece of art before him. The smooth shape of the metal. The intricate work of every joint. The delicate carve of every beautifully and painstakingly incredible detail. The steel shined as if it had been recently polished, the orange light of the nearby dancing flames bouncing from the curved surface of the metallic bicep all the way down to the elbow rotator. Jewels, deep purple amethyst and glimmering onyx lined the shoulder cuff and decorated the the main five knuckles, along with the center of the dorsal palm.

He tentatively reached an enamoured hand out to touch it, feeling a shudder run through his system at the power that thrummed up through him at the mere grace of his fingertips. There was magic in the steel. Not any kind of dark magic like Haggar's... but powerful magic all the same. Shiro looked up to Lotor as he drew his hand away, stepping back into his own cell with a slow shake of his head.

"It's beautiful," Shiro murmured, dragging his eyes along the arm. He figured it was armor of some kind... though he wondered exactly what the full set had looked like. He flicked his gaze up to Lotor, and cocked his head. "Did you make this? It's an exquisite piece of armor... why only show me the one arm? The gods know I have no use for it." His lips quirked in a smile in spite of his darker little quip.

 

Shiro couldn't quite say it was too soon for jokes, however. Five days to a gladiator trapped in his cell with no means of training or fighting was basically equivalent to an eternity. An eternity of pacing and of worrying and of fidgeting. An eternity of healing... of getting used to the alien sense of lightness and unbalance his body had been plagued with. Without the weight of his right arm, his whole center of stability was skewed -- it had taken him enough days to get up out of bed, let alone get used to the terrible absence of his good arm. The terrible loss of a piece of him. It didn't help that the piece was likely swept up from the ring and fed to the royal dogs, or perhaps the tigers and lions they kept in the colosseum.

Zarkon permitted him a week and a half to heal and get used to the imbalance before his next fight. Shiro had six days left to prepare for it... though Shiro knew he was destined to die in that fight if he didn't figure out a way to save himself. Shiro had been too weak from blood loss and pain to train in the time that had passed since his injury, and the lack of proper food after so many weeks of fine dining didn't help much either. His form was weakened, his eyes sunken and his skin paler. He could already feel the shape of his hard earned muscles slack at the lack of proper care and proper nutrients. If he didn't find a way to work his body harder, or perhaps find a way past Lotor's protective babying, Shiro wouldn't survive his next fight.

He turned, moving towards the back of the cell so he could lean against the wall by his makeshift window. Shiro slowly slid down to a sit, sighing quietly as he relaxed his legs. Lotor still stood at the door of the cell, holding that armor in his hands. Shiro had been waiting in anticipation all day to see the promised 'gift' Lotor had described to him the night before. The prince had visited him every day since Shiro had cried like a child in his arms -- which, fortunately, was not something brought up again by either of them. The shame still made Shiro's stomach turn. The display had been a clear blow to his dignity.

Though... despite that... Shiro found that in the late hours of hs cold, lonely nights of his cell, he wanted nothing more than to be in Lotor's arms in such a way.

He would never admit it.

And, as usual, Lotor would offer up that little smile as he stepped into Shiro's cell.  
"You expect me to spend weeks working on a suit of armour and then only present you with an arm? Do you expect me to spend hours preparing you a meal and only bring you something to drink? Or, perhaps, should I spend hours thinking of stories I could tell you and then tell entirely irrelevant ones?" He pushed the door closed behind him and began to approach Shiro, kneeling beside him.

"This is no gauntlet, Shiro. This is no piece of armour. This is not just a creation of some metal plates welded together; this is infused with magic, with mechanisms that would shock any townsperson to see it, a piece that not even my father knows could be created." And Lotor brought the shoulder joint of the arm to lock against Shiro's, clamping around it and moulding to his skin, tightening around his shoulder, fixed in place within a matter of moments.

Shiro felt an alien buzz of strong magic flush through his nerves, the feeling creeping all the way up to his face and down to his abdomen from where Lotor attached the arm onto his shoulder. There was a slight press of a burn as the metal molded into his skin and clasped about his stump of an arm, and Shiro's eyes went as wide as the world as it all set in through his layers of shocked denial.

Lotor could see confusion being replaced with realisation on Shiro's face.  
"This is no armour, Shiro. This is an arm. A prosthetic, functioning arm that I've lost sleep designing, that has had magic infused into it, that has been created to fit you perfectly and match your other arm."

In all honesty, Lotor couldn't quite emphasise enough the amount of effort that had gone into producing such a thing. Sure, he could shrug it off and say that it was simple, a little lost sleep was nothing, but he had spent all of the time Shiro had had off to work on it. Five days to be exact. And, of that, he had only needed four days to make it. The other day of his time had been spent designing and running through theories of whether or not it would work with Shiro, of how much energy would need to be stored inside it if he wanted it to function, on how many of these powerful gems he would need to power it and where he could get them, if they would need to be placed specifically or if he could place them decoratively... etcetera.

He had spent nights awake noting measurements, filling out bland questions that he'd need to keep in mind- what if it were to overheat, what if it was broken, what if Shiro rejected the gift. Every single question that could be important, he had had to come up with. Lotor had already installed temperature-regulating mechanisms to prevent it from overheating. If it broke, Lotor would know which part was damaged and be able to retrieve more, but the outer plates were made of a durable material so that there would be less and less chance of it being damaged too extremely. And if Shiro rejected his gift... the mechanisms at the top would have already clamped around his shoulder, tightening around it, and it would be difficult to get off from there. He knew that Shiro needed this to survive. He wasn't going to let Shiro push away a gift that would save his life, no matter the reason. That was why he hadn't waited for Shiro's reaction before clasping it into place.

His eyes fixed on Shiro.  
"How does it feel?"

Shiro sat in a stunned silence, his eyes trained on what used to be the empty space of his arm -- empty space he was just starting to grow accustomed to. He parted his lips to try and speak, but it seemed as though he had lost his voice to the initial shock. Shiro shook his head a little, brow furrowing as he trailed his gaze down the metallic arm attached to him... his metallic arm.

His wide eyes settled upon his hand -- the open palm and laxed fingers, still glittering with the bouncing reflection of the nearby torch. Shiro, for some odd reason, felt afraid to try and move it. Afraid that it wouldn't work. Afraid that it would. Afraid that it would hurt... afraid that it... that it wouldn't. Shiro shook his head again and looked back up to Lotor, finally managing to croak out some sort of sound from his throat.

"Lotor... this... this is too much," he murmured, swallowing hard. Shiro cleared his throat, looking back down to his arm, the guilt taking place of the shock rather quickly. "I can't take this. I don't deserve this. Give it to someone who does. Give it to someone I dismembered... I can't... I..."

Shiro trailed off. As much as he didn't want to accept it -- as much as his skin crawled at the idea of allowing himself to have such a luxury he could never ever deserve -- Shiro couldn't deny he needed it. He needed it for his freedom. He needed it for the very thing he had been working towards for years and years with a relentless conviction that left him numbly slicing through bodies and slaying beasts twice his size. Shiro had done to much for his freedom just to die. Just to die because he didn't know how to fight with his weaker left arm.

Even as the the taste of bile rose up in his throat when the thought of bearing such an instrument, such a beautiful piece of art, as a weapon to kill, Shiro didn't let himself say he didn't want it. Instead he looked back up to Lotor, eyes growing hot. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from letting them well any further, and set his jaw -- forcing himself back into the mindset of a warrior.

I need the arm to fight.

I need the arm to win.

I need the arm to kill.

I don't get to feel guilty until I am free.

"Thank you," he said, his breath a little shaky. "Thank you... thank you so much. I... I don't know if I'll ever be able to repay you for this. You're saving my life. My freedom. Lotor, I am indebted to you for what has to be an eternity by now."

Shiro fixed his gaze back onto the arm -- back onto the hand. "How... how do I work it? Does it just... know?"

"It should," Lotor assured him. "It should just know, and hopefully it will. I've not been able to test it- there aren't many people who both lack an arm and would be willing to test it without stealing it. I made it for you, so don't feel selfish or guilty for accepting it. Either way, you wouldn't be able to remove it alone." He moved one hand to cup Shiro's cheek. "It should work the same way your other arm does, thanks to the magic I infused the metal with."

He pulled back, his hand instead settling on Shiro's shoulder to make sure it was attached firmly and, when he was content, he moved away a few paces. "Test it out. If I need to make it heavier or lighter I'll adjust accordingly. It wasn't as if I would have been able to measure or weigh your other arm to ensure that it would be perfectly balanced."

Shiro looked good with that arm. It suited him. It seemed to fix itself to him and his image well- not only as the monstrous killer that the town saw him as, now donned with a monstrous weapon for an arm, but as a vulnerable person who he had pieced together. Someone that needed help and even if he didn't find himself to be deserving of it, he accepted because he knew how important it was to his survival. That perseverance, perhaps, if not the determination had been what drew Lotor to him.

There was a moment or so where Shiro sat still, having been stuck in that same feeling of uneasiness from before. However, he overcame it... he pushed it all back -- stuffing it deep deep down into the bowels of his system for Lotor's sake and Lotor's sake alone. Shiro closed his eyes, gave a low, steady exhale, and then opened them, focus trained on his arm. He went to move his fingers.

They twitched.

A feeling of distant shock settled in Shiro's stomach at how easily the hand listened to him, though it was ebbed away by the perfected numbness of his emotion. He furrowed his brow, and turned his hand over to admire the decoration of his dorsal palm, spreading his fingers out and splaying them wide. There was the quiet scraping whisper of metal joints as he bended and wiggled his new fingers. The steel made a gentle sort of click when Shiro squeezed the hand into a fist. There was no lag nor stall to the prosthetic's movements -- it worked as quickly and as efficiently as he old hand. The only oddity or flaw Shiro could even think to address was the fact he couldn't feel it move. It was like having your limb dumb and dead from lack of blood flow. He turned and rotated his wrist, and tapped his fingers against one another, but there was no sensation. It was odd.

Shiro would get used to it.

After the hand came the arm. Shiro warily bent it upwards at the elbow with a quiet creak of metal. It moved as swiftly as his fingers did. Shiro then tried to lift his upper arm, but found yet another problem. Fire laced through the shredded skin tissue and muscle when Shiro worked it -- the wound hadn't properly healed in those five days, and lifting a metal arm, as lightweight as it was, had been a bit taxing. Shiro hissed and let the arm slump, his left hand reaching for his right shoulder. He let out a low laugh, shaking his head a bit.

"The arm works wonderfully. The only problem is me." Shiro's voice was low with a bitter irony as he took his left hand from his shoulder and settled it on a looser brick of the wall. He hoisted himself up to his feet, wobbling a bit at the new balance. The metal arm was maybe only a bit heavier than his old one, and after nearly a week of having nothing there, Shiro found it a bit discombobulating. "My wound is fresh -- it still hurts to move the muscle there. I can work past it, though. I can push myself through the pain, I've done it countless times before."

Shiro looked up at Lotor, and furrowed his brow. "Will... will Zarkon allow this? He's upset with me -- he's only fed me table scraps and hasn't sent his witch to heal me yet. What if he takes this away? What if he wants me to die my next fight?"

"If he had plans to send you into an unwinable fight, I'd know. If anything, he'll give you an animal you used to easily defeat to show how much weaker you are now. He won't get the better of you. As long as you can fight, as long as you can kill, you'll be enough. My father has yet to grow bored of your victories."

Lotor moved one hand to cup Shiro's cheek, learning in and looking fondly down at him. He would be okay. Shiro would always be okay. The day that something got the better of Shiro would be the day Zarkon lost his best fighter and the town favourite.

If he were to be given any kind of an end, it would be slow and brutal, and god knows it would be gorey. Lotor planned on having his father dead long before that could happen.

Lotor got to his feet after a few moments, dusting himself off before unhooking a pouch from his belt and throwing it to Shiro's lap.

"Those should work as a painkiller," he said, the pouch full of dried or crushed leaves. "They won't do much but if you take them before fights, they'll still lessen the pain. It should make it marginally more tolerable. Relax, get used to your new arms, and I'll be back after tomorrow's fight to check up on you again. Maybe then, as a thank you, I'll learn your full name?"

And the cell door clanged shut. With a soft murmur of a goodbye, and a warm smile, Lotor turned and left.

Pouch in hand, Shiro watched him go, blinking stupidly at the realization he had yet to tell Lotor his real name.

~~~

Shiro won his next fight.

And his next.

And then the following four.

The crowd adored his new arm.

For such a beautifully designed instrument, it made for a rather decent killer. Shiro had trained with it extensively in the days before his first fight, growing accustomed to his new balance and using Lotor's natural pain supplements to lessen the ache of his muscles. He built up the muscle mass he was starting to lose during his short healing period — training so relentlessly he didn't really need good food to help restore the build of his core or his left arm. By the time his first scheduled fight came around, Shiro was once again the killing machine he had been before. The crowd roared at the sight of him. They rallied at the sight of his new arm. Even if the sight might have confused Zarkon or even aggravated him, he could do nothing but let the fight commence — his kingdom likely wouldn't have had it any other way.

Zarkon nodded, and Shiro took down his opponent in five minutes. When Shiro returned to his cell, the prosthetic Lotor had given him slick with blood, he found his reward on the floor of the cell. Steaming, fresh pork, three slices of fresh, fluffy bread, and a heavy filling of vegetables that glimmered with the spices they were decorated with. He didn't even wait to wash off his arm — Shiro simply plopped down and ate, starved from his measly portions he was given the week and a half before.

From then on, Shiro's fame only grew. His new arm was like a gimmick — his most prominent feature. An expert tool of death, one that could bash through skulls and wield a sword heavier than Shiro himself. Shiro ignored the way his subconscious desperately wished for the crowd to stop cheering when Shiro would kill a man with the piece of art attached to his shoulder. The piece of art Lotor so laboriously crafted for him. The very idea was enough to make his stomach turn, really, but Shiro would never admit it.

He stopped admitting a lot of things, really.

The loss of his arm began to change him — began to shift him backwards in a way. All of the growth Lotor began to draw from him, all of the warmer smiles and the brighter eyes, it all left him with every match he won and every man he killed. Shiro was reverting back to the numb, apathetic man Lotor had found him as. Why? Well... Shiro couldn't exactly tell. Perhaps he found the warming of his heart as a weakness. Perhaps he thought all the hope and all the joy Lotor had brought into his life made him foolish.

Perhaps that had been the reason he lost his arm in the first place.

Shiro never blamed Lotor, and instead blamed his own stability and emotion. He couldn't get soft — not yet. Freedom was so close, he could almost touch it. He could almost feel it brush his fingertips. As much as he cared for Lotor, and as much as he wanted to desperately to fall into Lotor's arms and hold him close for all eternity, Shiro couldn't afford the weakness that came with it.

He had to just cling to the idea that they'd run together when he was free.

"Your father is leaving soon... isn't he?" Shiro asked Lotor one evening. He didn't know why he had asked — he knew for a fact Zarkon was to venture out to meet Allura the next morning. Shiro had been counting the days, really. "I think we... we should talk about what we had planned. I don't think it's a good idea for you to let me out of my cell in your father's absence." Shiro broke off a piece of his bread, and popped it into his mouth. "It's too risky. As much as I want to, Lotor, I don't think it's worth it. I can roam free when I am free."

Lotor, from his position stood at the door, frowned at this sudden change of mind. He didn't understand what had driven Shiro to suddenly turn away from him, to turn so cold. He acted as if he didn't notice, good at putting up a facade, but Shiro had grown distant to him and was acting far colder. The tone he spoke with was no longer endearing, no longer holstering any sense of warmth. It felt almost like they were meeting for the first time again.

"You need to get out of here for a while," Lotor insisted, though he still felt as if he were speaking with a stranger. "You shouldn't be in here for so long. Even just for a day, you can leave. Taste a little more freedom, be able to leave your room without being shackled or because you're going to be made to kill."

He couldn't help but blame himself. He'd softened up to Shiro, and he'd assumed that Shiro was softening up to him too, but it must have just been a foolish hope that he could have truly had something with Shiro. Maybe that was why he clung so tightly to the idea of this trip with Shiro, to giving him this little brush of freedom. Maybe, somewhere deep in his mind, he hoped that if he let Shiro out, they could spend time together like they used to. He didn't know if he was idly clinging to a fantasy or not, but there would be only one way to find out. That was why he pressed on, insisted, tried time and time again to convince Shiro to join him after he'd said no once.

Lotor leant down to Shiro's height, kneeling in front of him from the other side of the door.  
"This is all I ask. One day, one night. We can do what you please, wherever, and we won't be bothered by anyone. Where is the harm? There won't be dangers, there won't even be the chance of my father returning. I know that you want this. I want this. Isn't the risk going to be worth it?"

He knew his desperation was showing. He couldn't even try and hide how badly he wanted this. Besides, he had plans that he couldn't talk about in this untrustworthy company. He wanted to tell Shiro about his plans to kill his father when they were alone. He already had everything figured out, but he needed to confess this unto someone before he did it- to get another opinion on it, to see how Shiro would feel about it all. After all, Shiro would be the one getting his freedom as soon as his father was to perish. Waiting for the right opportunity was growing too tedious, too risky, and Lotor had grown tired of the abuse he had faced.

If someone was going to put an end to his father's tyranny, it would be Lotor.

Shiro couldn't look at him — if he did, he knew he'd fall into Lotor's caring eyes and his pleading tone. He kept his stare trained upon his plate, brow furrowing, shoulders drawing up on his body. His severed arm no longer stung with pain at each movement. All that remained of the injury was an ache that resonated deep in his bones, and Shiro was sure the feeling would pass in a matter of days — perhaps a week or so.

"The guards might see us. The servants might see us. They could mention it around your father without even meaning to tattle, and you would get in trouble. He would... hurt you. Does my happiness really mean that much to you?" Shiro's voice was bleak. Unconvinced. "It certainly doesn't mean that much to me. I can't let you take anymore punches for me... and on top of that, I can't afford anymore disadvantages in the ring. I'm so close to my freedom I can almost taste it. I can't... I can't lose that, Lotor. It's the only thing I have."

Shiro hesitated a long moment or so before letting himself look up and mutter out his next little statement.

"It's the only thing I have besides you."

He allowed his own eyes to sparkle with pleading. For the first time in a long time, Shiro's voice had softened back into its empathetic nature. His lips quirked into his old smile.

"And I can't lose you either. We can run together when I'm free. We can do whatever we want. But for now we... we have to wait for the opportunity to come."

Lotor looked down at Shiro, brows furrowed, as he approached him. He finally stepped into the cell, too, and knelt down in front of Shiro. One hand moved and tenderly cupped Shiro's cheek, brushing his thumb along Shiro's cheekbone.  
"Your happiness is everything to me," Lotor insisted quietly. "I would face all kinds of hell for you. I would go through an eternity of torture to be by your side again. I would receive fifty beatings if it meant I could do one thing to make you happy."

 

His eyes locked with Shiro's.  
"Let me do this one thing for you. Please. I would beg if that's what it takes to convince you that this is worth it, that it will be worth it. I desperately want this with you. I want you. Out and about, free, unshackled. We could visit the market together, we could go anywhere we wanted. You can pose as my bodyguard- nobody would even question it." Lotor leant in and, after glancing to the bars to ensure nobody was looking, brought their lips together in a slow and tender kiss.

And it still felt every bit as perfect as it had on their night at the stream.

But he pulled away after a few moments, despite how everything ached for them to kiss again, to kiss and kiss and kiss until every problem they had melted away under the bliss.

"Please," he said instead, not daring to move in for another kiss. "Just consider it. Consider everything that we could do if you got out of here for just a little while."

Shiro's eyes, having lowered themselves into a content sort of close during the kiss, fluttered open into a heavy lidded daze. He looked up a Lotor, his lips slightly parted, his brow furrowed delicately over his softening eyes. The weeks of telling himself that Lotor's love made him week suddenly seemed like nothing in the wake of that kiss. Shiro... Shiro had missed that kiss so much. He missed it so much that even the slightest taste made his mind spin and his previously sturdy conviction muddle. He absently leaned forwards, desperate for more of Lotor's touches and more of his kisses. He managed to stop himself before falling back into another kiss, however, but his eyes never left Lotor.

"Well... I don't think I could refuse such an offer after that," Shiro murmured, his lips curling in a smile. "Why didn't you begin with that?"

"What, and lead with my strongest argument?" Lotor asked, letting out a breathless little laugh as he brushed his fingers through Shiro's hair. "What power would I be left with after that? If you said no, no words would get through to you anymore. You always get so hazy after the slightest kiss." Lotor leant in, pressing a kiss to Shiro's knuckles.

And, feeling genuinely optimistic for the first time in so painstakingly long, he looked Shiro in the eyes.  
"I'll come find you an hour after my father has left," he promised, his tone sincere and kind. "And we can do whatever we wish to do. Together."

Even if he couldn't really say that he liked the plan, Shiro couldn't contain the stir of excitement that shimmered in his system. His smile curled up a bit more, his eyes opening up and growing brighter. He watched Lotor kiss his knuckles with a flush of wild blushes, the idea of a powerful man such as Lotor would gift him with such and intimate display of respect makin his heart feel lighter than air.

"You said we can go to the markets? I would have to wear a cloak but... I'd like that," Shiro murmured, nodding. "And the palace has a royal pond where they get the fish they feed me with. I'd like to visit that too -- if it isn't too much trouble."

Shiro leaned forwards a bit, that hope finally breaking completely free of his sturdy wall of denial and protection, the look of it gleaming in his eyes. "Maybe we can go to the stream again? Find some deeper waters... I haven't skipped rocks since I was captured. I must say I'm quite the expert at it -- I wouldn't mind teaching you the technique for the perfect throw."

Lotor smiled a little, running his thumb along Shiro's knuckles as an affectionate idle gesture.

"Then I'll come back for you tomorrow," he promised again, getting to his feet. "We can visit the pond, the stream, the market, and then we can come back and I'll show you to my room, where you can rest for the night. I think that that would be perfect."

Lotor, after gracing Shiro's knuckles with one last blessed kiss, got to his feet and began back to the cell door.  
"Get some rest. There's a lot that we'll do tomorrow."

~~~

"I still can't believe you did all of this for me... it was too much."

Despite Shiro's words, his lips were curled into one of the brightest smiles he had ever expressed in his years of being a gladiator. He was laying back on Lotor's bed, his head in Lotor's lap, his body selfishly sprawled about the plush cushion -- just sinking into the pure luxury of it all, something he hadn't experienced in what had to be his whole life. Even before he was captured, his parents were never rich -- his father a soldier and his mother a farmer for her own family. The amount of lavishness around him, and the amount of it he could properly experience without shackles or punishment... it nearly brought him the tears the moment Lotor had brought him up to his bedroom after their long day out.

As much as Shiro liked the look of the fish in the pond and the nostalgia of skipping stones over the surface of that stream, he couldn't really deny that the market place had been his favorite activity of the day. Lotor had given him clothes to wear. Not slim fragments of cloth connected with thin chains of gold to show off his muscles and his scars. Not ratty, blood stained peasant rags he'd wear after fights. Not chainmail armor or harsh, leather strapped sandals. Clothes.

A ink black, longer sleeved tunic, its neck criss crossed with strings that connected each collar and aglets made from sterling silver. Snug trousers with gold and silver decals laced into the sides of each leg. Boots that reached his mid calf and felt as though he was walking on air compared to his blister-inspiring sandals. A handsome fur cloak that draped over his shoulders and a hood that did a fair job at encasing his features with shadow. Shiro had to admit he didn't even recognize himself when Lotor presented him with a mirror -- he'd just been dressed so nicely. Everything fit and everything was clean.

And then the fact that Lotor had quietly called him handsome added to Shiro's selfish love of his new outfit, of course.

They had left the castle together quickly, hurrying out side by side, Shiro trying hard to stifle his giddiness and his grins. Lotor had taken him in a carriage to the mouth of a long, wide road, lined with wooden stalls and shops and venues -- each one alive with shoppers and sellers and running children and life. Shiro had stopped short when they left the carriage, feeling suddenly aware of himself -- even beneath the hood of his cloak -- at the sight of the crowds. One supportive hand from Lotor on his hip, however, had been quick to calm his nerves, and the two continued onwards.

He kept his head relatively low, but his eyes skimmed the stalls with a look of childish amazement. Each time Lotor noticed Shiro's eyes lingering on a table of sweet bread, candies, tarts, fruits, crepes or any other kind of treats, he'd slip out his money and buy a bagful, even if Shiro desperately denied the fact that he wanted any. Most of the what they bought was food -- things they would eat together either on a future picnic or just up in Lotor's comfortable room -- but there were three things Lotor had gotten for Shiro that he would get to keep on his person or in his cell to remember their day shared with one another in the marketplace.

First had been wooden carved pendant about as big as Shiro's palm, whittled in the shape of a wolf. It was a simple little thing -- something children would buy and cling to as toys or as decoration to put above their beds -- but Shiro had stopped their stroll short to admire it. He tried to tell Lotor not to buy it for him, but Shiro fell quiet, a rush of excitement sparkling in his chest as he watched Lotor give the money to the vendor. He clutched the little toy close to his chest the moment Lotor had pressed it into his hand, and thanked him over and over again. Shiro didn't know where he would hide it -- perhaps beneath his blankets or stuffed into the little crack of a window in his cell wall -- but he knew the feeling of it in his hands was something too good to be true.

The second had been something a bit more intricate. A soft, handsome little handkerchief -- sewn with dainty cloth about each edge. In the center had been an artfully embroidered picture of a beetle. A prideful stag beetle with long mantles, sewn from red and black string. Shiro had pointed at the thing and offered a soft laugh, mumbling something about how he always liked the goofy little creatures, and Lotor had purchased it in an instant -- Shiro didn't even get the heartbeat to argue. Shiro wrapped his wolf in the cloth, and stuck both securely in his pocket, blushing up a storm at Lotor's kindness.

The third was the special one. At the very end of the road, just a few more stalls until they would turn around and walk back up the other side, Shiro found that his gaze had landed upon a strikingly familiar sort of stand. He had audibly gasped, reaching a hand up to tap Lotor's shoulder and then to wordlessly point, before dragging the confused prince over to it. It looked as though whoever ran the stand must have come from the lands Shiro was from -- he recognized the jewelry and the writing above the table. He brought Lotor over to it and it only took a heartbeat before he was was talking a mile a minute, pointing to every stone tied to every string necklace or bracelet and explaining what each one meant. His features positively lit up at the sight of a beautifully cut jade stone necklace, and Shiro cupped it in his hands, studying the look of it while he described what a special gemstone it had been. How his mother had jade earrings and his father had a string necklace just like that one. How Shiro used to have one tied to the hilt of his sword before he was captured.

For the first time that entire outing, Shiro didn't try to argue when Lotor pulled his money out from his cloak.

He had been idly rubbing the stone between his fingers, turning over on his side so his cheek rested on Lotor's lap, eyes studying his new gem with an unfiltered contentedness. In his other hand he held his wolf all wrapped up in that beetle cloth. His stomach was full with all of those sweets Lotor had gotten, his mind a bit fuzzy from all the wine they had stolen from the cellar. His lips were curled up into a goofy sort of smile, his system in such a sublime state of relaxation, Shiro almost didn't think the moment could ever end.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Shiro asked, holding up the gem a bit for Lotor to see. "Jade stones were always important to my family. I... I've said that, haven't I? You must be sick of my babbling by now."

"I would never tire of hearing your voice," murmured Lotor as he ran his fingers through Shiro's hair, holding him close now that he could shamelessly have Shiro in his arms, pressing kiss after kiss on the top of his head, his forehead, down his cheek to his jaw. He had to admit that the buzz of the alcohol was taking quite a toll on him, too, as he would never be so shamelessly and blatantly affectionate without it- not to the point of pressing sloppy kisses on every exposed bit of flesh his eyes would fix upon. He was just relieved that Shiro wasn't getting sick of him suddenly being so clingy.

There was just something about Shiro that he never wanted to let go of.

"It is beautiful," Lotor murmured after a few minutes, bringing their conversation back onto track for the jade stone. "What does it signify again? I love it when you tell me what these things mean." By then, Lotor had already memorised the different ways Shiro could tell him that the necklace gave strength but he couldn't care anymore- he didn't want to hear anything but Shiro's voice again, and that wasn't something he said lightly. Nobody could keep him so amused, so happy, and listen to him the same way he listened to them. Most others Lotor had engaged with in his life were selfish, spoke of their stories and even when Lotor grew tired of the same gore, he'd listen, but the moment that he brought up books the intrigue was lost and the conversation died. With Shiro, he could talk about philosophy for hours on end, speaking of love and life and what it all meant to him, and Shiro would listen so intently, with such a fond look in his eyes that Lotor would almost forget about everything that had happened to him.

He almost forgot about everything that kept them apart. And, for those few moments, he felt a fleeting sense of bliss.

Shiro smiled, more than happy to explain his infatuation with jade for what had to be the fifth time.

"Jade is a sweet source of nourishing energy. It heals and purifies the soul -- even one as broken and as dark as my own," he said, bringing the jade down and tracing his fingers about its edges. "It's basic meaning his purity -- kindness and light and wisdom -- and my family cherished those ideas above all else. At the same time, it symbolizes gentleness and nourishment. It's nothing but loving... when I hold it and close my eyes-" Shiro paused to do so, closing his fist over the stone, "all I can feel is its kindness."

He fluttered open his eyes, and looked up at Lotor, offering a calm grin as he took in the man above him. "I suppose it reminds me of you, Lotor." Shiro set his jade necklace down on his chest, and reached up to push a loose strand of Lotor's hair behind his ear. "You and jade stone share the same energies. I will hold it close to my heart whenever we're apart -- I will never forget how much such kindness means to me."

"You flatter me," Lotor said softly, sweetly, as he cupped Shiro's cheek and gently brought their lips together again- something he'd started doing whenever he could now that there was no risk of being caught or shamed. "Truly, you do, and I never thought that I would be able to have anyone like you by my side."

"Things can be like this every day, soon," Lotor murmured, his voice soft but suddenly apprehensive, anxious, cautious. Slow. As if he didn't quite trust what he was saying. "I've waited too long, being passive, for my father to just kick the bucket. Shiro, I... I'm going to kill my father. A week from now. I'll engage in combat with him and, hopefully, I'll win." His eyes drifted slowly to Shiro, looking at his face as if he'd be able to read what his expression meant. "I'm going to kill him with my own two hands and then I'm going to tear down the colosseum brick by brick. All prisoners will be freed from the palace dungeons and transported to better places, and the dungeons will be transformed into a hospital for research on currently incurable diseases. The palace will be renovated and I will open a ballot box for the public to voice complaints for me to work on."

Lotor had averted his eyes again by then. Shiro, however, looked up at him -- face pale and eyes alive with a slightly panicked shock. There was nothing he could say to change Lotor's mind, no matter how uneasy the idea of Lotor fighting such a powerful man made Shiro feel. Lotor had already long since decided to kill his father, and he knew what his immediate first steps would be to improve the empire. And, eventually, he would release control on neighbouring countries that had been forced into the empire until they were a docile and peaceful race that could truly work with others.  
"I'm going to kill him," Lotor insisted. "With my own two hands. I want to spill his blood without another influence or any help. And when I will do, I will crush his bloody 'legacy' to dust by creating a golden age. And when I can rule, powerful and peaceful, inspiring loyalty for loyalty instead of out of fear, I'm going to have you by my side."

Lotor reached into his pocket and dug out a small box, one hidden in his pocket that he had bought at the market. He sat up a little, disturbing Shiro when he pushed off of the bed and knelt on one knee beside it. Shiro watched him, his brow furrowed as he leaned up and his head cocked as he looked Lotor and his strange new pose up and down. Lotor knew he was being brash and irrational but he held out the box and he popped it open and-

"Shiro, I don't even know your full name but I don't want to rule this empire with anyone else by my side. I don't care if this is foolish and impulsive, all I know is that I desperately want you to say yes. When I rule this empire, when I can give you everything you want by lifting my finger, will you swear your love and loyalty to me with a marriage ceremony? Shiro, will you be my fiance now, and my husband later? I want to grow beside you, live beside you, and begin a legacy with you, my love, by my side."

Lotor's chest somehow both felt light with eagerness and heavy with anxiety. Constricted with worry that Shiro could say yes but free knowing that finally, finally he had gotten this off of his chest. His heart was hammering out of his ribcage and at this point he couldn't even tell if it was nerves or excitement. He just let the words tumble past his lips, having meant to revise this and run the words over his tongue a few times before he popped the question but now that the opportunity had presented itself, he just took his chance. He couldn't even bare to hold off even a minute longer. And now that he had riled himself up so much, the next few words came out easily.

"Shiro, will you marry me?"

Shiro's mouth fell open, his gasp sharp and surprised. His eyes rounded and his skin drained of all its color, before promptly rushing with the brightest shade of red any person could properly turn and still live to speak of it. He tried to choke out a response, but his system was completely devoid of any sort of intelligent shock. All he could do was part and close his lips like a fish out of water for a few moments, before he gave up and just brought both of his trembling hands to his mouth cupping them there as hs wide, tearful eyes stared down at that box in his hands.

Inside was a ring. A beautiful ring. A ring whose body was made from pure silver. A ring whose extravagant stones glistened in the loveliest of manners in the dim candlelight of Lotor's bedroom. A ring of pink and black marbled rhodonite, built and cut around a rich, precious sapphire. A ring of self love and confidence around romantic love and commitment -- the energies of those gemstones worked together perfectly. The beauty behind it all brought Shiro's tears to well to the point of escaping -- twin trails trickling down the corners of his eyes as he looked back up to Lotor.

"L... Lotor... I..." Shiro couldn't seem to speak properly. He had so many words to say, but they were caught like a knot in his throat. "No one has ever... I... I never-I..." Shiro blinked hard, took his hands down from his mouth, and revealed the biggest, happiest smile he had ever really worn in a painstakingly long time.

He mumbled a giggled curse in his native tongue and let out a tearful bark of laughter.   
"Yes!" he cried, nodding his head fast. "Y-yes! Of course!

Shiro put his hand against his head and pushed his bangs back, murmuring an incoherent whisper in his language as the shock process. He had just been bombarded by an army of happy news. Joyful news. Not only would Zarkon be dead and not only would Shiro be free in just the matter of a week, but Lotor wanted him by his side for the rest of his days. Lotor wanted him. Lotor loved him. Lotor... Lotor wanted him to help rule the kingdom that had taken him captive. The honor of it all... the sweet, pure vengeance and the satisfaction. He'd have the power to do what he liked. He'd have the power to find his parents and give them enough money to live comfortably. To give his family name meaning again.

To let his legacy be more than just Zarkon's Champion.

He brought his hands up to his face, thrilled at the mere thought of it all. Tears streamed through his fingers. His lips were still curled in that stupid grin.

"You've just made me the happiest man, Lotor," he said, laughing again. "The happiest man..."

Lotor was grinning by then too, and perhaps on the edge of tears as he wrapped his arms tightly around Shiro's neck and clutched to him.  
"If I've made you the happiest man," Lotor said softly, "What have you made me?" He cupped Shiro's cheeks and brought their lips together, running his fingers through Shiro's hair, love in his eyes and swelling in his chest and making him feel absolutely perfect- better than he'd felt in so long. Better than he usually felt when he was by Shiro's side, which was an achievement in itself.

 

He settled back on the bed beside Shiro, holding his fiance's hand with one hand while the other wrapped around his broad shoulders. He had Shiro settle down on his chest now, and coaxed his fingers through his hair slowly, toying with the long strands that hung over his face. He smiled a little, kissing the top of his forehead.  
"You're my everything, Shiro. Some day, we will create a new empire. Together."

Shiro gave a long, soft sigh, curling close to Lotor and sniffling a bit, wiping away the rest of his happy tears. He nodded slowly, letting out a laugh that seemed to be drunk on both the wine and his own intoxicating joy.

"Yes," he said, giggling again. He reached out and carefully took the ring box from Lotor's free hand, bringing it close to his face to properly inspect. When he looked up to Lotor, his grin had somehow gotten brighter. "Yes, we will. Together."

He closed the box, not taking the ring out to wear just yet — he wouldn't be able to until he knew for sure there was no one who could take it from him. No guards, no Sendak, no Zarkon. The moment the man was dead (was, not if... Shiro believed Lotor could do it with all his heart) Shiro would slip it on his finger and never take it off. In the meantime, however, Shiro pocketed it along with his carved wolf and beetle kerchief, before laying slack against Lotor's chest, eyes settling into a content sort of close.

"I... I love you, Lotor," he murmured, laughing again. His tone had grown tired. Slurred with drunken drowsiness. "More than I thought I could ever love anyone. Thank you..." Shiro trailed off in a low sigh, features relaxing. "I think I may sleep... please wake me if you... if you want to..."

Only a minute or so passed before Shiro's happy, intoxicated mind melted into a state of calm slumber.

And Lotor, so tired and drunk with bliss, continued running his fingers through Shiro's hair, uttering to him a thousand soft declarations of love as the night began to pass them by. Even now, his insomnia wouldn't let up and allow him to enjoy his day so instead he relaxed, he closed his eyes, and he stayed curled into a ball until the night passed him by, sighing contently, so absorbed in Shiro and their warm embrace that he didn't even notice the creeping sensation that he was being watched.

He only cared for Shiro. And that would be his downfall.


	28. The Fate That Befell Us

There was the sound of sharp metal knuckles of the Emperor's armoured gloves against skin and the bone beneath it. It was a snapping sort of sound as his wordless blow landed across Lotor's face -- striking him right where the bone curled about his eye socket. A soft thump followed that echoing crunch as Lotor collapsed in a heap at Zarkon's booted feet. When the prince looked up at his father with a look of pure confusion and shock, Zarkon noted the blood that already began to bead and spill from where his gloves had split his son's skin.

How easily the boy bled. It was pathetic, really.

"You look at me like you don't deserve this. Why?" Zarkon growled darkly, looking down at the bleeding prince, a dark sneer curling his scarred lips and scrunching up his nose. "I left the kingdom to you for five days, boy, and what do you do? Are you aware of all of the rumors you caused? Are you aware how bad all of this makes me seem?"

When Lotor didn't respond -- when his quizzical expression did not falter -- Zarkon snatched up the collar of his shirt and wrenched him forwards. So close their foreheads nearly touched. So close his eyes burned into Lotor's and his wine tainted breath spilled across Lotor's bloody face.

"Don't you know what you spoiled for me? It took me years to find a gladiator who wouldn't die in one of his first five fights. My Champion was perfect. And it was all for nothing because of you."

Zarkon released him after that, leaning back up, still wearing his dark, angry scowl.

Lotor, still exhausted and confused, shook his head to show that he still didn't understand. He still wore his pyjamas- loose lavender clothes of silk with a robe loosely wrapped around his shoulders, untied. He had bathed the night before, dressed in his pyjamas and had been reading, when guards had come into his room and told him his presence was required downstairs. He hadn't thought anything unusual of it until he'd gotten to the door and his wrists had been grabbed to force him downstairs, to force him into the throne room and to push him to the floor by Zarkon's throne, where he had knelt only while getting up. His father didn't deserve such signs of respect.

"Father, you ought to be more specific with my sins," he said to his father, his voice sharp, eyes narrowed into a glare as he moved his hand and wiped away the blood from his cheek. He wasn't going to let it stain his white robe. "I broke many rules while you were out, you shouldn't expect me to pinpoint just one that might have enraged you. Your temper always runs short- I could have failed to water a plant and you would be equally as infuriated with me. Often, it's hard to understand if you're irritated with me for a crime intentionally committed or a mistake accidentally made."

He dusted himself off a little, eyes fixing on Zarkon. He was eagerly awaiting the day he was could bury him.  
"List my crimes and then I might accept my punishment." He wished his father's trip had lasted far longer. No, even that was far too kind of him- he wished his father had never returned.

Zarkon grit his teeth, his jaw muscles pulsing. He uttered out a deep sort of growl, one that rattled from his chest, and shook his head a little, eyes blazing.

"You have the audacity to play dumb with me?" he shouted, voice ringing about the throne room. "I come home after my taxing visit to that disgusting little kingdom, and I'm informed that my son, the prince, is snuggled up with my prized gladiator? Not only were you idiotic enough to let the Champion free from his cell, dress him in our clothes, feed him our food, and let him lay in our bed, but to kiss him? To propose to him? He is a slave, Lotor. You let a dirty monster parade through my palace and then you gave him your heart? It's sickening!"

He brought a hand up to his head, settling a his index and middle fingers against his temple and pressing them there, breathing out a long, slow breath of air between clenched teeth. "The guard that caught you told me you attempted to pay off the others," he said quietly, voice dangerous and low. "Anyone who accepted the bribe will be executed by the Champion in the next two evenings, and then on the third I'm disposing of him. I'm sure by then the talk of what you did will have spread about the whole country by then -- no one will want anything to do with my prized fighter anymore. Frankly, after what you did, I don't want much to do with him either. He'll be put against seven heavily armed soldiers, and if he's still alive when the last man falls I'll send out seven more. And then more. And then more. A bloody death for a bloody monster."

"He is obligated to perish for my decisions?" Lotor argued, taking a step forward from him. "All of them, forced to die for what I did? When I face no punishment? Your Champion is a man with more honour in the ground his walks on than is in your whole body! Your Champion is a man not only worthy of love, but capable of earning it and deserving of it! Your Champion, the man you insist is a monster, is only that way because you have forced him to be! You have beaten him, you have locked him up away from his home, and forced him to fight and kill for your entertainment here!"

Lotor took a step forward, challenging his father, not even hesitating for a moment to object to the insane and cruel decision his father made.

"There is one monster in this castle, father, and I stand before him. Do not punish the guards nor the Champion for my mistake. I will take the punishment that all those men deserve. I will endure their collective agony. All I ask for you to do is show more humanity now than you ever have before."

Lotor knew that he was being foolish. He knew that his arguments would only have agitated his father more, but that was the point. This was a calculated idiocy. This was a chosen stupidity. This was him deliberately deciding that provoking his father might lead to a brash agreement. That this could be the little push needed to persuade his father to do as he was challenging him to do.

He was hoping it would work.

There was only a moment before Zarkon reacted -- the fabric of Lotor's silk robe clenched in both his fists as he whirled the boy around and slammed him against the marble wall beside them, the impact forcing all of the air from Lotor's lungs in one pitiful sort of wheeze. Zarkon leaned close, breath huffing past his lips in low, snarled pants. Like he had been a beast of sorts.

"You should have thought about the guards before you bribed them," Zarkon spat, his tone burning. Seething. "They'll die because of you -- I will make you watch the Champion mercilessly rip through their bodies like the rabid dog he is. His ruthlessness is stunning. Hell, I might even tell him that killing those guards in the most creative way he could think of would grant him his freedom -- then you could truly gaze upon the savagery that is the Champion. That is the 'man' you say is so deserving of love and mercy."

Zarkon stepped back, and, with his grip on Lotor's robe, whipped the prince around and released him, letting uneven weight topple him to the floor. He watched Lotor push up from the floor, and then delivered a sturdy kick to his stomach for good measure. The prince collapsed again. Zarkon wondered if he would try to get up again too.

"I am disgusted with you." His tone was sour. Dark. Filled with loathing and malice. "Again and again I have given you your chances to prove your worthiness, and again and again you have failed me. Need I remind you that the Champion was a powerful warrior from an enemy country? One that could have lead an attack on this kingdom had I not interfered? He has always been lesser than us. He has always been a savage. To think you tried to tie my family name with him... it's sickening. You will never see him again. Not until you see him in the ring. Do I make myself clear, boy?"

"About as clear as you've been every other time you've tried to discipline me!" Lotor shouted, managing to bring himself to his feet even as his body trembled as a result of the impact. Even if he felt as though he might vomit. "He's no monster! He's no savage, he's not anything that you try to make him out to be! He was an honourable soldier, the same way you would say anyone who fights for our kingdom is honourable or brave! He was a kind and decent man! You forced him to be a monster for your entertainment!"

Lotor couldn't bring himself to care for the punishment this would get him. He had grown sick and tired of his father, of the abuse, of sitting quiet and behaving until it was over. Few times did he speak up against Zarkon, fewer times to this extent.  
"You've always been disgusted with me, the same way that I've always been disgusted with you! You're a pathetic father, a disgusting husband, and a tyrant of a ruler! I have wanted you dead for years! Decades!" Footsteps began to approach on his left and Lotor turned, giving a punch at what he assumed would be mouth-height, but the taller-than-anticipated Galra received a punch to the throat instead. It didn't matter to him, his mind swarming with fury and panic as he snatched the sword from the hand of the guard, curling his hand tightly around it. He was losing his patience now, losing his ability to think about this logically. Everything he'd been thinking of for so long came tumbling out of him, spilling past his lips without giving him any chance to stop it, overwhelming him. He didn't care anymore.

Self-preservation had taught him to keep his mouth shut, but without Shiro he had no reason to live. There would be no life. Self-preservation had gotten him to meet Shiro, and carelessness was going to make him lose Shiro. He only had one chance to take- if he tried this tomorrow, or the day after, it may well have been too late. So he was going to kill his father now while he could. He gripped tighter to the hilt of his sword and prepared himself for his first attack. He had trained with his father when he was younger- he knew his fighting style. He'd be able to take him.

Shiro had faith in him. He wasn't going to let Shiro down.

"It's a pity that mother died instead of you! Sometimes, though, I'd rather she were dead than still here to see the monster you are! That would have been a fate worse than death!"

Zarkon stood as he had been, unafraid. When two more Galran guards approached the doorway, he held up a hand to stop them as they drew their own swords.. He gazed upon his son, looking the boy up and down, his eyes narrowed with hatred. With a look of such repulsion and disappointment, his glare seemed to freeze over everything in its icy touch -- aside from, of course, the panting Lotor before him.

The Emperor, however, did not reach for his sword.

"Such anger," he mused in a growl, shaking his head. "Such a pitiful display. No wonder you had fallen for the gladiator beast. It seems as though you both lack the self control."

He took a step forwards, calm -- angry, still, and sneering at Lotor, but otherwise collected. Unphased by the weapon gripped in his son's hand.

"Do not try me, boy. You will lose, and your punishment will be severe."

"Severe?" Lotor echoed, barking out a sharp laugh. "Severe? You've promised that every other punishment I'd face would be severe! You quarantined me to my bedroom for five years, and the only time I could leave was when I watched people murder for your amusement! You tell me I lack control but this is the only time you've possessed it in the twenty-five years I've been alive! I couldn't even look at you as a child without being beaten! I couldn't speak! I couldn't do anything without you deciding that I needed some 'severe discipline'!" He drew up his sword. "Your death will be a slow agony for all of the hell you have forced me to endure!"

Perhaps he should have given another thought to that. Perhaps, just once, he should have considered why his father was so calm. Why his father didn't seem to care for his lashing out. It hadn't even crossed his mind that there was a reason why his father hadn't lashed out or attacked him back.

One step forward. Another. He gained speed and pace, momentum, but only a moment later a searing and burning pain shot through him. The scream left his lips before he'd even processed the full extent of the agony that coursed through his veins. Electricity. He recognised it, finally, as his legs collapsed beneath him and he crumpled on the stairs that led to the throne his father stood upon. Electricity that belonged to the Witch, Haggar, who had been stood patiently behind him, waiting her turn and opportunity. Waiting for the subtle nod from Zarkon that had entirely slipped Lotor's notice.

And as he collapsed, his body still aching with pain.

He attempted once, twice, to push himself back up but his arms were so weak, shaking. He'd forgotten the black magic that she employed and how severely it always affected him. He'd forgotten her significance, her presence, and if he'd remembered he might have been able to avoid the shock and reach his father.

"You will not speak to the emperor in such a way," her gravelly voice dragged out from behind him. He wanted to give some sharp quip, some cruel comeback and push himself to his feet but his tongue no longer followed his commands and he collapsed yet again when he attempted to get up.

He hated the powerlessness that washed over him. All because of a little bit of carelessness. All because he forgot about the witch.

There was a soft click of the tongue, and then slow, heavyset footsteps as Zarkon made his prowling way closer to his son. Icy, metal gloved fingers curled about Lotor's face, beneath his chin about his cheek, and he tipped Lotor's head up, letting their stares connect. Lotor's eyes wide and pained. Zarkon's narrowed and hungry for revenge. Hungry for torment.

"I told you not to try me, boy."

~~~

As usual, the blade sliced through the body nice and easy. A swift cut up up the chest, the tip of his blade slashed across the man's rib cage, shattering each one it passed through and shredding his lungs all the way until it cut through his body with a splatter of bright crimson, highlighted in the sunlight. Shiro's arm didn't even stutter -- the magic mechanisms of his joints did not falter. If anything it worked better as he cut that man's chest into ribbons.

The guard collapsed with a wheezing sort of cry, stumbling back with a whimper. Shiro watched him squirm desperately on the bloody, baking sand, features relaxed, his eyelids heavy set and his lips pursed in his normal, emotionless frown. It took the man a full minute to properly suffocate on the blood that had filled up his collapsed lung. When he had, however, Shiro tipped his head, and whipped his sword out at his side, flinging the blood from its sleek, steel body and across the sand, igniting the crowd into a booming sort of roar.

Four unarmed guards against the Champion. And there Shiro stood, victorious.

It was a back to back execution -- the first four had been killed the day before in a similar battle. The four Galra were given no weapons nor armor, just released like rats into the cage of the beast that was Shiro. And Shiro had taken them out one by one on command, his jade necklace tucked beneath his chainmail chestplate, his wolf, handkerchief, and engagement ring all hidden in that crack in his cell wall. Shiro didn't know what had prompted Zarkon to execute all of those guards in such a fashion, but he hoped and prayed to every god he believed in that it had nothing to do with Lotor's odd disappearance.

Luckily, Shiro figured it had been some sort of impromptu meeting of sorts -- perhaps with whatever Queen or Princess that Zarkon had been off to see. He guessed as much when he didn't see the Prince in his usual seat during the first fight. The Galran banner that was usually displayed above his throne hadn't been flying -- the same way Zarkon's would be whenever he left the kingdom during one of Shiro's fights. The assumption gave Shiro a sense of some stability. He had stayed up the entire night before in his worry after Lotor neglected to visit him for dinner, but to have such a strong explanation to cling onto gave him... reassurance. Lotor was okay. He was a prince. Princes had meetings. It was nothing out of the ordinary.

The sun beating down on the back of his neck, wetting his brow with sweat and causing his metallic arm to flash and shimmer like stars in daylight, Shiro turned around and looked up at Zarkon, awaiting his nod to signify that the fight was over. That Shiro could return to his cell and wash some of the blood off in his basin. The living guards were already starting to clean the bodies of their past coworkers from the sand, sweeping up the dismembered body parts and the disemboweled guts towards the outer circle of the ring where the crows awaited eagerly for scraps. All Shiro had to wait for was the bob of Zarkon's head, and his day would be over.

Zarkon stood with a flurry of his expensive cape and a flash of his crown in the sun. Shiro waited, sighing softly. Impatiently. The emperor always liked to put on a show at the worst of times -- the blood was starting to dry and crust. Shiro wanted it off as soon as possible.

His impatient attitude, however, shifted when he watched Haggar the witch stand alongside him. Shiro furrowed his brow, and cocked his head, knowing that her magical presence meant some sort of announcement. Even before Haggar had lifted her hand up to touch her Emperor's shoulder to magically amplify his voice, Shiro had fallen down to one knee, his head bowed forwards, his fist balled and held over his heart in an instinctive salute, having switched his sword to sit in his left hand.

He wondered what the Emperor had to say.

"Hello, loyal citizens," Zarkon's rasping voice boomed over the ring, Haggar's magic taking the simplest tone of voice and spreading it far and wide, distorting it into something louder than the thundering clap of lighting bolts. "I hope you are enjoying the show -- the Champion makes fine work of his enemies. His ruthlessness is entertaining. The scrabbling of a merciless beast trapped in the facade of a man. It's exciting. Wouldn't you say so?"

The crowd went mad in approval. Shiro squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth, willing himself not to lose his calm. The back of his neck prickled with sweat and drying droplets of blood as he waited for Zarkon to continue, wondering anxiously where such an announcement could be going.

"His savagery and your reaction to it all has satisfied me. I am a man of my word -- all prisoners can earn something in wake of my satisfaction. I promise freedom to those who manage to entertain me to such degrees, and my Champion has more than achieved such an accomplishment. Don't you agree?"

Shiro's heart had flipped. He didn't even hear the crowd roar in agreement. He didn't hear bits of the crowd boo in disappointment. He had been filled to the brim with an electric sort of feeling the moment Zarkon had uttered out the word freedom into the arena.

"So, I will give the Champion one last fight. An easy fight, if I should say so myself. One last execution to quench his thirst for blood and leave you all remembering his savage ways for the rest of your lives -- even after he parts from our dear kingdom."

The gears of the gate behind Shiro groaned, metal screeching, screaming as the barred door had been lifted up, opening the mouth to the dungeons below. There was the sounds of footsteps behind him and the quiet jeer of guards, but Shiro made sure to keep from getting ahead of himself, remaining in his respectful bow as his final victim -- his final victim -- was released into the ring. Whoever it had been, it drove the crowd to one of the loudest, swelling cheers that Shiro had ever heard in his time there as a gladiator. Shiro only squeezed the grip on his sword tighter. He would make it his most extravagant kill to date. He would satisfy the crowd and the emperor and then some. Anything to ensure it would be his last. Anything to ensure his freedom. 

He only wished Lotor was there to see it happen.

"Some of you may recognize the Champion's victim. Wish him luck in the fight to come. God knows he needs it. May the fight commence -- Vrepit Sa."

The crowd screamed the salute back.

Shiro stood up slowly from his bow, his fist still over his heart. His fingers adjusted their grip on the hilt of his sword. 

 

"Vrepit Sa," Shiro murmured back, before passing his sword from his left hand to his right, whipping it out to his side with wild flash of reflected sunlight as he spun around to face his competitor. To face the last man he would ever kill...

But then Shiro froze. His face drained and his features fell and his skin went cold, as if he had been dipped in a vat of icy waters. His stature seemed to weaken, his head going light.

No... no. Shiro's mind spun. Not you.

"Lotor?"

Shortly after the electrocution, Lotor had opened his eyes and found himself in a cell. An empty, cold, dark cell. He had still been in his thin pyjamas, but had awoken to someone prodding at him with the end of a spear- some guard he was sure he'd bribed a few months prior, who wouldn't be caught out with the others that had been bribed the night before. This guard had thrown armour at his feet- cheap, leather, but thankfully in the same style as the armour Lotor normally wore, meaning that it was tight gave room for quick manoeuvre's without as much air resistance. He hadn't wasted any of his time questioning it, he knew what was to come, and he had stripped himself of his pyjamas to pull on his armour.

He'd expected his father to do something rash, and it was easy to put two and two together to figure out where he was going, but it hadn't quite processed that he was going to be fighting someone. Not until a sword was pushed into his hand and he was shoved to the gate, forced to stand and look at the barred exit and listen to his father's announcement. The second that 'last execution' had slid past Zarkon's lips, however, everything had processed. There had been a moment where he was almost paralysed with the fear, almost overwhelmed, almost to the point of dizziness- but then he stopped.

He murmured something under his breath- something Altean, his native tongue, that seemed to still his nerves and soothe him into a state of uncomfortable apathy. Apathy was better than irrationality, after all, and when that door fell open and the crowds let out their insatiable screams of excitement upon recognising him, he knew he wouldn't have been able to handle it otherwise.

But he stepped out. Regardless, he held tighter to the hilt of his sword and began out of his cell, eyes fixing on Shiro, on the disbelief that crossed his Champion's shoulders. And he approached him, stopped a few metres away for his own safety, so he would have time to react if Shiro did anything. He glanced at the sword in Shiro's hand. Sharp, but dulled with use. The armguard he wore would be enough to block, which was a relief as he hadn't been given a shield. He supposed it was just lucky that Shiro didn't have one either.

"Champion," was all Lotor could manage to say, adjusting his stance to be on the defensive but making no moves to attack, not even beginning to approach Shiro. He knew what he was doing. He wasn't going to attack Shiro, but... he couldn't guarantee that the feeling was mutual. "There was a... fault with my plans," he said, too quiet for the crowds to hear but loud enough for Shiro to hear him clearly. "I tried to avoid this fate for you. I didn't want you to reach this point."

He raised his sword, holding it, again, in a manner that would be practical for staying on the defensive. He had no intent to attack, and he wanted Shiro to know that.  
"The crowds demand blood. One of us is going to die here."

The sun must have been beating down especially hard today- Lotor could feel the hotness beginning to build up behind his eyes.

It wasn't until his vision began to blur that he realised that it wasn't anything to do with the sun.

"I'm sorry."

Shiro stared at him. Gaped at him. Stuck in his own numbed horror as the realization washed over him. Lotor's words were fuzzy — he could only barely hear them. That muttered Champion. The apology. They all must have been too far away to hear right... or... or maybe Shiro had cotton stuffed in his ears. Weakly, Shiro lifted a trembling hand to check, but he found nothing. It confused him, but not more than looking back up at Lotor — Lotor, with his armor and his raised sword and defensive stance, poised as if he were facing an animal in a cage — confused him.

He took a slight step backwards, his head shaking slowly. Shiro's body felt numb — his skin prickled as though his blood had stopped pumping through his body.

"You... you said that it... it would be fine..."

Shiro's voice had been just as muddled and quiet as Lotor. Whether that was the strange new handicap of his ears, or just that he spoke in such a manner, Shiro didn't know. He supposed it didn't matter. Lotor didn't reply.

His eyes trailed down to his sword, still gripped in his hand, it's bloody tip laying listlessly in the baking sand. Shiro then looked up to Lotor, finally taking in the look of his armor. Leather. Ratty and old, basically nothing aside from the steel arm guard. Still, it had been nothing in comparison to Shiro's chain mail. Lotor's sword was styled like Shiro's, but it was sharper. Not as used up. It made Shiro's mind whirl a bit to realize he was doing the same security check he would with all his previous fights — surely he wasn't going to fight Lotor, was he?

You will fight everything that comes from that gate.

Zarkon's voice grated and rattled in his ears. After came the sharp ghost of a whip, the memory stinging up the soft skin of his back.

'I can't- th-they're defenseless! There's no honor!'

Another slash of a whip. Another growling command from Zarkon in his ears. Bouncing in his skull like a memory. A ghost from all those nights in the dungeons in the first years of his capture.

You will fight everything that comes from that gate. Men. Women. Children. Beasts. You will kill them all and you will win. Do you understand me?

The scars on his back hissed with remembrance, hot against his skin and beneath his baking armor.

Do you understand me?

Shiro's horrified features began to settle. He turned the hilt of his sword about in his hand, before tightening his grip — just like he would before every battle. Before every fight. Before every kill. The fear and the sorrow and the guilt began to melt away in favor of his defensive, apathetic numbness as he lifted his sword from the ground. Something in him tried to scream at his body to stop as he shifted his legs and squared his shoulders — readying himself for battle. For a fight. For a kill. But Shiro swiftly shushed it, as he always did.

There was nothing he could do for the man before him. He was destined to die. Anyone put against the Champion was destined to die.

Shiro had a mission. A purpose. Nothing could stand before it — he made that vow long ago. Freedom was so close. He could touch it, see it, taste it. Hell, he could feel it. A gust of fresh wind that somehow found its way into the arena to bless him before his fight. Shiro ignored the look on Lotor's face as he started to stalk forwards. He ignored the excited screaming of the crowd. He ignored the hot sun. He ignored how heavily the jade necklace had been pressing against his chest.

He ignored everything. Just like always. Just like the numbed soldier he was.

Just like the Champion he was.

Lotor stood his ground, just as he had done during every other fight he'd gotten into, just as he was trained time and time again to do.

"Shiro, you have to listen to me," Lotor said as Shiro approached him, resisting the urge to take a few steps toward him. "This isn't what you think it is. We... we can still figure something out. We'll figure something out, I promise. Just listen to me."

He knew it was futile.

Somewhere deep in his system he knew it was futile, that it wouldn't work, that this begging and pleading would be drowned out with Shiro's trained intuition to kill, with this force-fed desire to hurt and slaughter for his own gain. For something he thought he would. For freedom that wasn't going to come. For a lie that had been so heavily reinforced and sugarcoated that Shiro actually believed that it could happen. The bitter, harsh truth was something he would soon discover.

The truth that freedom didn't exist and it never had. Lotor just hadn't had the strength to tell Shiro any sooner but now it was becoming clear that if he didn't tell Shiro, then the Champion stood in his place would kill him without second thought for a reward he wasn't going to get. He wasn't sure about his chances of winning this fight- either he'd fight and be killed for his efforts, refuse to fight and be killed for his failure, or kill Shiro and regret it instantly. He... he wished that he had more of a choice. If there was some way for them both to get out of here, then he would take it, but the more he thought about it and the closer Shiro drew, the more he knew it was pointless.

Lotor had been right -- it was futile. Shiro couldn't hear him. All he recognized was the usual desperate quality of a beg, but the words didn't seem to reach him. Just the sound of Lotor's voice. A sound that melded and muddled with all of the begs and the taunts and the bribes all his other competitors had uttered before their demise. Shiro had grown to ignore his victims when they spoke. It made it all easier to lump them all together in one pitiful sort of specimen, destined to die at his hands. It made it easier to see Lotor as nothing more than just a featureless face and wordless voice.

Just another ghost he would let haunt him later.

Shiro didn't even think twice before he lunged. He leapt forwards from his predator-like stalk, his muscles springing to action without another second's hesitance. His sword flashing like mad in the sun as he lashed it out towards the man before him.

He struck the prince's fast block, their swords clanging together in an extravagant ring of sound, the tremors crawling up the metal of Shiro's arm and buzzing at the scarred flesh of his shoulder. Shiro was quick to reel back and then strike again and again, merciless with every outwards lash of his weapon -- unphased by the wild clanging of their weapons at each relentless attack. He was driving the prince backwards, his defensive stance not very sturdy. Shiro noticed this and took instant advantage.

On the next meet of their swords, Shiro twisted his wrist and shifted his arm upwards, trapping Lotor's blade in the curve of his sword's guard and wrenching his weapon right along with it -- exposing Lotor's body. Shiro's left hand moved fast with a punch, striking low but with an upwards angle, slamming into the prince's gut and up into his diaphragm. The prince faltered as the breath escaped him, and Shiro took the moment to sweep his leg beneath Lotor's, catching his ankles and buckling his weight onto his knees. The prince fell backwards, arms pinwheeling, and Shiro pulled his sword backwards to let him topple.

The crowd roared in approval as Lotor hit the hard, blood splattered sand. Shiro took the cheer and used it as motivation as he moved forwards, watching the prince writhe on the dirt, his chest shuddering as he attempted to get a good breath in. It was time for the final blow -- the crowd knew his battle tactics. They shouted and jeered at him to get on with it. To strike without thought -- without mercy. Perhaps to the throat or maybe even through the gut with his sword. Twist it and allow the blood to fountain up from his enemy's lips.

However, Shiro's next step towards the groaning Lotor was staggered. His grip on his sword was tight -- so tight that his metallic knuckles seemed to groan and creak dangerously at the effort. The jade necklace around his throat was more present than it ever had been, digging into his skin, the leather twine chafing at the back of his neck.

Who bought you that necklace, Shiro?

With a low, guttural shout, Shiro spun around, his lips pulled back into a snarl, his teeth clenched so tightly his gums and his jaw muscles back to ache. He reached his hand up and drove his palm into his head, as if he hoped to knock the weakness from his system. Shiro tried to focus on the burning strips of memory Sendak and Zarkon had lashed across his back with that whip. Every deep gash carved into his skin, salted afterwards to keep the raw, exposed flesh dry -- to keep the flies that lived in the dungeons, preying on the dead and dying, from bothering him. Shiro focused on the pain. The humiliation. The fear of losing and facing all of that wrath again. The satisfaction at the idea of winning and finally being free of that hell-kingdom, and all who dwelled there.

All who dwelled there.

Shiro spun back around again, watching Lotor push back up to his elbows and knees. The Champion still scowled. He still bared his teeth as he watched the pathetic display of his victim. He seemed to be readying himself for the defensive again -- the sight made both Shiro's heart and his stomach lurch.

"You will not win on the defensive, your highness," Shiro growled, his voice all but reverted back into the emotionless drawl of the Champion. "I suggest fighting back."

"You expect me to fight you?" Lotor asked, pushing himself to his feet, snatching up his sword from the sand and once more adjusting his stance. "I will not go on the offensive. I will not fight you, Shiro. You are not, and will never be, my enemy."

Perhaps, in any other situation, he would have been more occupied with the dull ache of his heart from how Shiro called him by his title again with such stoic carelessness in his voice. He had to remind himself that this wasn't Shiro, not wanting to get overwhelmed by how different Shiro acted all of a sudden.

"Lay down your weapon, Shiro. Please. There's something that you need to know about."

But, of course, Shiro didn't listen and Lotor parried another attack at him. Taking hits, being pushed back, it had allowed him to figure out Shiro's fighting style, an intertwined mix of his native fighting abilities and the Galra methods, showing both his original influences and how everything about Shiro had now been tainted by these influences.

If he got out of here alive, if both of them could somehow find a way to leave alive, Lotor would find where Shiro came from and they could return there, even if only briefly. It would surely be overrun by Galra, but if they went fast enough the news of the dishonour he'd brought wouldn't have travelled that far that fast.

But right now, he was a little too preoccupied to distract himself with thoughts of escaping or eloping.

Another dash at him and Lotor almost didn't block in time, wrapped up with his own thoughts and whirling mind. How was he supposed to focus? How was he supposed to look his lover in the eyes and fight back? How could Shiro expect him to? Their swords clashed with a sharp clang of metal and a flash of sparks, and when Shiro came charging at him again with an expert swing of his sword, Lotor not barely had time to think before dashing toward him and dropping to the floor, sliding through the gap between Shiro's legs and taking his foot out from under him while he had the momentum.

He managed to knock Shiro down this time, standing a safe distance away- where he wasn't in range to be grabbed or have a sword swung at him.

"I've told you," he said, still holding to his sword tightly. "I'm not fighting you, Shiro. Whether you're the Champion to them or not, you're just Shiro to me. I won't fight you, I won't kill you, and I won't be killed by you."

Shiro pushed up on his elbows, grunting a little and shaking his head. The crowd around them had let out a might ohh when Shiro had hit the ground, and then erupted into sound when he had pushed up on his knees. It was rare the mighty Champion was knocked down, but when he was, it ultimately meant that the fight was going to be a good one. They chanted at him to get up as Shiro blindly patted for his sword and then they roared again when he clutched it into his hand. He was on his feet only a second after, eyes blazing as he reeled around to face Lotor.

"Shiro isn't even my real name!" he cried in a snarled sort of way, like the beast he was -- trapped in a cage of sand and blood.

He charged forwards, and their swords met again. And again and again. If Shiro had been relentless before, he had collapsed into a purely animalistic state by then. It was as if his strength wouldn't falter -- his hit Lotor's sword again and again. From the left, from the right, from upwards and then downwards. His intent was only driven more from each quick, collected block -- each time the clang of the swords rattled his bones and pierced sharply in his ears.

The fight was, once again, pushing Lotor back. Even as he blocked and parried with the speed of a highly trained swordsman, Shiro was stronger. Brasher. Bolder. Shiro would win on the offensive -- it was inevitable.

It was only a matter of when Shiro would take the call to end it.

He did on the next strike of their swords. The metal blades met each other with that spark, and Shiro, instead of pulling back to hit him again, pushed forwards with all of his strength. The crossed swords shifted downwards between them as Lotor struggled to brace himself against Shiro's weight and muscle, but it had been exactly what Shiro had been hoping for. He twisted his wrist, locked their guards together, and whipped his sword to the side, wrenching Lotor's own from his hands and flinging it far across the ring. Shiro watched Lotor's eyes widen and follow his weapon, but only for a moment.

Only to watch the look of hopeless fear spread across his features.

Then Shiro lunged. His mind devoid of proper thought as he leapt at Lotor, his fist balled and his arm pulled back for a mighty punch. It landed -- across Lotor's face, against an old bruise Shiro didn't know or care where it came from. Lotor stumbled back, a bit dazed by the blow, and Shiro took it as yet another advantage. He brought his sword down, and sliced the flesh of lotor's inner thigh in one swift pull of his sword, and then toppled Lotor to the ground with one easy swipe of his leg. He wouldn't be getting up again. Shiro had torn the muscle of his thigh clean open -- the blood was already pooling past his clothes and armor.

He didn't even had a moment to writhe or groan before Shiro was on him again. Shiro's booted foot planted firmly on the prince's chest, and pushed down hard -- bending his ribcage in on itself with the pressure. He flipped his sword around so his left hand held its hilt, and his right, metallic hand held the blunter side of the blade, and pushed down with it towards Lotor's throat for a clean decapitation. However, Lotor's hands shot up to block it, each one gripping to the edge of Shiro's blade. Shiro gave a low growl and pressed harder, watching the blood bead about Lotor's palms and drip down the sides of his wrists.

Either the pain would make Lotor give in, or Shiro would have to cut straight through his hands to get to his throat. It didn't matter. Either way, the prince was a dead man.

He was a dead man the moment he stepped into the ring.

"I gave you a chance to fight," Shiro said through gritted teeth. His breath came out as empty pants, his chest heaving from all of the previous exertion. That little voice inside of him, buried under that harsh pain from the whips and that dreadful obedience of a dog trained to kill, screamed and begged at him to stop. Yet it was nothing but a tickle compared to everything that stifled it. It was nothing compared to the instinct of the monster everyone knew he was. "You didn't take it. Accept your fate, and I'll make it as painless as I can."

"This isn't you," Lotor hissed back, though the only reason his voice conveyed such a tone was because of the pain shooting up from his hands. He should have blocked with his forearms, with anywhere else. There were too many nerve endings in the hand and it was agony to have a dulled sword pushed through his flesh.

He pushed back still, his eyes finding Shiro's- full of fear, yes, but full of hope and desperation. He wanted to get through to Shiro, he had hope that he could, and he was desperately trying to convince Shiro to listen to him.

"You're no Champion. You never were. You're Shiro, you're you. You're not a monster, bloodied and unleashed into the ring. You're just human, and you've been forced here. You-" he paused, needing a few moments to breathe now that the pain was worsening. He could feel his own hot blood spilling down his wrists and forearms, dribbling down onto the hot sands beneath him.

But he pressed on, even if he felt he was talking to a brick wall. Even if he knew Shiro wouldn't listen.

"Stop this, Shiro- we can leave! We can go anywhere you want! We can follow the stream as far as our feet can take us," his words became pleading now, poisoned with weakness that he felt running through his very bones, mixed into his system like the adrenaline pumping through his blood that was numbing the pain of his hands as best as it could.

"We can watch the sunset again." If Lotor didn't know himself better, he'd think his voice was coming out in strained and weak little whimpers. In desperate whined so full of desperation and weakness he almost didn't even seem like a threat. He didn't want to be so pathetic, not even if he knew he was. "I didn't kill my father, I made a mistake that took away one of our happy endings, but we can still have a happy end. We can leave. We can get out of here if we just run. They can't take us both."

He didn't even know if he believed what he was saying anymore.

"Please, Shiro... stop this... There was a reason why I refused to fight you. Please don't kill me- there's so much we could still do..."

Shiro's eyes were hot. They were welling -- his vision splitting with a warm wall of tears. He didn't know why. Shiro couldn't feel anything... there was nothing inside of him. He was nothing but a concave machine -- a being composed of nothing but the instinct to fight and scrabble for survival. An instinct that drove him to push down harder with his sword, letting the blade push through Lotor's flesh until he heard the click of the prince's bone meeting metal. An instinct that forced him to ignore how harrowing the scream had been as it peeled past Lotor's lips. An instinct that pushed him to keep fighting against Lotor's fading strength, even as the strange, empty tears began to stream from the creased edges of his narrowed eyes and down the the curve of his nose and his cheeks and his lips.

"You're wrong," he said, voice hoarse. "We could never have a happy ending together. I could never have a happy ending. You doomed yourself the second you involved yourself with me."

Shiro didn't know if he was trembling from the force or from the sting of his own biting words of truth.

He grit his teeth and continued anyways. "There's no stopping. I can't... I won't stop. I've killed to many for this moment. There's too many ghosts, Lotor -- there's so many ghosts." The tears tickled the sensitive skin on his neck as they trailed down from the curve of his jaw. The scars on his back burned beneath the hot sun. The jade necklace suddenly seemed to be choking him, even as it hung loosely against his chest under his armor. Shiro just pressed his weight down harder. Harder on Lotor's chest. Harder on the blade that began to chip through Lotor's bone.

"All of their deaths have lead me to this moment," he said, every word trembling. "I killed all of them for this. I won't let them die in vain. I will have my freedom. I've fought too hard to give it up for one man."

"You've fought for nothing!" Lotor shouted, the pain deriving him to shout the words he hadn't wanted to announce so . He was hoping that he'd never had to say this. "Everything you've done, everything I've watched you do... it wasn't for anything. You could never have been free! You would have been forced to kill and kill and kill until you would have died of exhaustion, or executed for no longer entertaining my father."

He was so close to giving in. The blade had gotten so far through his hand that he couldn't bear to move them. He couldn't even consider the idea of running anymore- his hands and his thigh were burning so badly. It was an unbearable agony that made him dizzy and sick.

"I was going to kill my father before it happened," he said with a trembling sort of unease. "I was going to slaughter him with my own two hands! But a guard- we- we were caught, and... and my father got the upper hand. I was emotional and my thoughts slipped- I forgot about the Witch and she attacked me..."

Was the pain making him hysterical or was the pressure on his chest cutting off his oxygen doing it?

"Fuck-" a soft laugh bubbled up around his words. "I thought I could have saved us, but I was more naive than I thought I was! I was stupid! And now you're going to kill me, and you had no clue that all that would do is make you kill yourself!"

He gave up pushing away the blade, his hands falling back and resting on the floor either side of his head, but Shiro didn't force it down onto his throat anymore.

"I should have told you sooner but I was too selfish... your promised 'freedom' is nothing but a noose woven with golden thread!"

Shiro had stopped pushing with the sword. His muscles had lost every bit of their strength. Every bit of their previous conviction. His eyes had rounded, his face had paled. He couldn't quite say he felt anything aside from the draining of warmth from hs body. He couldn't quite say he heard anything aside from the painstaking echo of Lotor's cry.

"What?" Shiro managed to croak out, not really feeling his lips when they moved. He shook his head a little, blinking his watery eyes, swallowing hard against his sandpaper throat. "No... no, you're lying. You would have... you would have told me sooner if... you would have told me."

Despite the words he uttered out in that beg towards the bloody man beneath him, Shiro's shoulders slumped. He leaned back, his numb fingers relaxing against and releasing the sword as he moved away. He stepped off of Lotor's chest, stumbled backwards for a moment in a mindless sort of way, and then let his legs give out beneath him. Shiro fell to his knees, his whole body feeling heavy.

Either the crowd had gone silent with confusion, or the ring that screamed in Shiro's ears blocked them out. His eyes were wide. His pupils were constricted. His gaze was horrified as he dragged it down to look at his hands. Hands that itched and tickled with the blood of what had to be hundreds. Hundreds he had killed for one soul purpose. Just one soul purpose. One... one little promise he had packed all his hope and all his soul into...

One empty promise.

"L-... liar," he said, desperate to hold onto his false truth. Desperate to cling onto the tether that kept him safe all those years before -- the tether that fell apart before his very eyes. The strings snapped and broke but Shiro still gripped and pulled it taut. His hands curled into fists at the strain of it, his eyes jamming shut. His face seemed to crumple with the exhaustion of holding on so tightly -- the streaks of tears interrupted by the wrinkles of his features. "You... you're just saying that so I lose... you're just... no. No!"

Shiro whipped his head up, the desperation burning in his teary eyes as he trained them on Lotor.

"Tell me you're lying. Do it! Tell me you're lying!"

But Lotor didn't respond.

He didn't move from where he lay, aside from moving his hands to hold them up above his head, looking at the cuts dragged along his palms, the cuts stemming inwards, toward the tip of his thumb. Running along the heartline of his hand. Like a cut through his heart.

How ironic. How fitting.

Drops of blood rolled down from the cuts soon- they were deep. Too deep. With each quick beat of his heart, more blood spilled, dark and thick and oozing down his wrists, dripping onto his face if he held them up too high, too horizontal. And he had to remind himself, every few seconds or so, that it wasn't Shiro who had done that to him. It was the Champion, who had been raised a killer and was born in the colosseum. It was the Champion that had been mere seconds away from killing him. It was Shiro that had snapped out of it, it was Shiro that begged him to say something, to confess to lying.

And Lotor slowly tipped his head to the side, hands falling back to his sides as he looked to him.  
"I wish I was lying," he murmured, his throat dry and his voice hoarse. "I wanted to kill my father before you found out. Grant you freedom. I wanted my selfishness to be for a reason. Do you know how many times I got close to telling you? Once. Once, when we went to the stream. That... I never saw the beauty of that stream until you sat beside me, telling me that you'd only ever dreamed of seeing it through that little peephole in your cell wall..."

Lotor sent another glance to his hands, then caught sight of his thigh. His hands had been burning so badly that he'd entirely forgotten about that. There was a considerable amount of blood dribbling from that wound at his thigh- it had pierced armour, he had to give Shiro props for that. It wasn't difficult to drive a sword through leather provided he had the strength and momentum but... He hadn't had an opponent like Shiro in years. He hadn't had an opponent in years.

Why did his heart sting when he called Shiro that?

"I think you did more damage than you realised." He turned his head to Shiro. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner... I didn't want you to lose your reason to fight, and then... give up. I was... I was scared. I didn't want to lose you."

And Lotor put his hands on the sand beneath him, hissing through his teeth at the sand in his open cuts. He managed to sit up- swaying a little, though out of blood loss or heat he couldn't quite tell- not that it mattered. Not that it would matter in a few minutes.

"Shiro... come here... please..."

Shiro looked forwards at Lotor, his whole body shaking and trembling as though he'd been feverish. He trailed his eyes down Lotor's bloodied form, from his pale face to his gushing hands and down to the wound on his leg and then all the way to the blood that began to spread in a hearty puddle about Lotor's body. He blinked, a new sort of feeling piercing his chest and spreading outwards about his body — like ice flowing along with his bloodstream. His previous anger and desperation was overcome by that new feeling. The thing he had been holding so tightly before — that tether. It finally snapped. But Shiro almost didn't even notice it. He didn't even care.

Because the real tether he had been holding onto was bleeding out before his eyes.

He moved forwards, nearly scrambling towards Lotor on his hands and knees. In an instant he had Lotor in his arms, leaning the prince into his chest and gripping both of Lotor's hands in his own, holding them above Lotor's heart and looking desperately around for something he could use to staunch the bleeding.

There was nothing. Just sand. Just the blood from Lotor's wounds. Just the jeers from the crowd around him — from the Galran citizens thirsting for blood.

"Lotor," Shiro said quickly. His head was spinning, his eyes wide and still spilling those tears from before. His breath was catching in his chest — in his throat. Panic thrummed through his system, crashing over him in waves as he watched the blood relentlessly spill from Lotor's palms. "You're b... you're bleeding. You're bleeding too much — I... I don't know how to stop it. I don't... I don't know what to do..."

He shook his head fast. Shiro took his hands from Lotor's wrists, and moved towards to his thigh instead, pressing his palm firmly against his leg despite the way Lotor's body seized up in pain. He only applied more pressure, ignoring how sick it made him to feel that hot blood ooze past the gaps of his fingers. How the warm, sticky smell of iron seemed to choke him for a moment or so.

"I'm so sorry," he whimpered, gasps racking his breathless words. "Please. Please, no, no. I-I didn't mean it. I swear... I... I didn't mean to... I couldn't stop- I couldn't." Shiro's voice descended and deteriorated into that of a hysterical babble, riddled with hiccuping sobs and strained, growling whimpers. "Lotor... Lotor, I'm so sorry. I couldn't stop... I didn't mean to- I didn't mean to!"

The crowd was booing. A low, croning sort of sound that rumbled the world and made Shiro's heart clench with fear. He hadn't been booed since he fought the Galran's last Champion -- all the way back when he had first won his title as a young, frightened prisoner of war. His pulse hammered in his chest. His head spun, aching and splitting at all of the noise around him.

"It's so loud. I-I can't think. I don't know what to do, Lotor." Shiro used his free hand to pull Lotor closer -- to hold him tighter into his chest, his fingers trembly as they curled into the fabric of Lotor's shirt. "What... what should I do?"

Lotor's head tipped against Shiro's chest, resting there, and for a moment he almost lost himself listening to the fast beat of Shiro's heart. It was like a melody to him- was there anything Shiro could do that wasn't perfect? Even his heartbeat, rapid and panicked, was beautiful.

 

"I don't want my father to kill you," was all that dragged past his lips, eyes fixing on Shiro, like he didn't have time to address the blubbering sobbing. He knew he had limited time, he wasn't a fool, and he was being as careful as possible with it. "But... he's going to... and the- the worst part is," a few delirious and breathless laughs escaped him. He knew he didn't have much time. "He's going to tell everyone you're free, living somewhere else, peaceful. But I've seen it happen before... with animals, with people, with anything that overstays its welcome in the arena."

Slowly, Lotor managed to lift his free hand and cup Shiro's cheek, forgetting about his deep cuts until he noticed the blood he'd smeared onto Shiro's face.  
"Don't let him kill you. It'll be a slow, horrible death if you do..." He paused for a few moments again, as if he needed a break after the strain of talking, but his eyes had fixed on the sky and he seemed a little amused by something. He pried his own hand away from Shiro, pointing it up to the sky.

"Is it just me," he murmured, "or does that cloud look exactly like you?"

The cloud that his attention was so fixed on, was in the shape of a heart. It was splotchy, and heavy on one side, but it resembled a heart vaguely enough to not only have stolen Lotor's attention entirely, but to have brought a smile to his lips despite his current situation. Or, perhaps, that was because he was waiting for Shiro to react to it, wanting to see Shiro smile again. Just once, if he was lucky. But he couldn't help the next words that tumbled out past his lips.

"Maybe I'll see you up there."

Or maybe he was just selfishly hoping he would go there, not wanting to live through more torture and torment than he'd suffered in his own home.

Either way, he didn't seem to doubt for a second that Shiro would be there. Shiro deserved a better place more than he did.

"I know you'll be up there, somewhere... and if I had to... I would claw my way up from hell to find you again." Was he rambling now? Shiro's anxious blubbering had faded, and now had Lotor's near-death rambling taken over? Maybe he was just talking while he waited for Shiro to reply, something he didn't even know if Shiro would do. His eyes were still fixed on the cloud.

Shiro watched him, wide eyed as he flicked his gaze up to the clouds, studying whatever it was Lotor had pointed out. His bottom lip quivered, his swallow clicking in his throat as he turned back to Lotor and nodded, the tears still a steady stream as they streaked down his cheeks.

"Yes," he croaked, still nodding. Shiro sniffled and, not minding the blood one bit, lifted his own hand to hold Lotor's to his face. He brought it to his mouth and kissed the pad of Lotor's thumb, his own thumb running circles round Lotor's cooling knuckles. "Yes. You'll see me. I don't care how or when or what way, but you'll see me. I'll find you. I'll always find you, I promise, Lotor."

How had Lotor grown so weak so quickly? It must have been the thigh wound... perhaps Shiro had struck something important. But his hands... they oozed and they gushed like fountains, heavy, sluggish waves of blood surging with every one of Lotor's slowing heartbeats. If Shiro could lift him and run and find some kind of cloth to properly wrap him with, perhaps he could save him — even with his lacking knowledge of medicine. But Shiro didn't think he could stand. He didn't think he could run. He didn't think he could disrupt the peace settled across Lotor's features as the prince stared so lovingly into the sky.

So Shiro just settled his eyes closed, took his hand from Lotor's leg, and instead used it to pull the man closer to him. To hold him tighter. To hold him closer.

Even as the sun pressed down upon them. Even as the very present scent of blood strangled Shiro with every breath. Even as the crowd booed and threw things into the ring. Even as the metal gears to the gate started to turn and grind.

Shiro just wanted to hold him.

"Takashi," he whispered, swallowing hard. "Takashi Shirogane. That is my name. I should have told you sooner, Lotor, but I was afraid. I'm not anymore. It's... it's Takashi, my love."

"It's a nice name," Lotor nodded, still leant against Shiro. He wanted to close his eyes, to sleep. Had that always sounded so tempting? He figured that he wouldn't truly know, as someone who slept once a blue moon. It didn't even cross his mind that the blood loss could have been getting to him. "Takashi," he tasted the name on his tongue. "That... that really suits you, Takashi..."

He let out a soft laugh again, his eyes fixing on Shiro. Was he bleeding as heavily as he thought he was? His wound didn't even sting anymore. It just had a dull sort of ache to it. Was that normal? Was that the adrenaline, or something else? He couldn't even feel the adrenaline anymore.

Was he dying? He didn't feel like it. He felt more peaceful than he had in years, excusing that time they'd spent at the lake, and the time he'd proposed. His eyes were still fixed on Shiro- Takashi- who he could barely believe was truly his fiancé. Oh, the marriage ceremony could have been beautiful... but this was what they got instead.

"Takashi," he said softly, his voice quiet and weak. "Don't let them get you. Don't let them bring you back. They'll kill you. Do something- anything. Kill yourself if you have to, it'll be more merciful than anything that they could have in store for you." He couldn't have been thinking clearly, to suggest such a thing was disgusting, but he hadn't been wrong. Even Shiro would have known that. Whatever they wanted to do to him, it wouldn't have been painless in any way. He would never have been free, like he was coaxed into believing.

He looked up at Shiro- at Takashi.

"I love you," he mumbled, learning a little more into the embrace. "I-" he attempted to move, but his body didn't comply. His eyelids were getting heavier, and he just decided to close his eyes to rest his eyelids a little. He couldn't even hear the footsteps of approaching guards. "Oh, ancients... I love you...my Takashi..."

He breathed in, then out, then in,

Then out.

And he didn't breathe in again.

Shiro felt the body in his lap fall slack. He felt the he held so close to his face relax and go limp in his own. Shiro blinked, somehow confused. Somehow doubtful. Somehow clouded with his own denial, as if he hadn't ever watched another die at his hands. He shook Lotor — just a little — murmuring his name. When Lotor didn't respond, his head lulling on his neck, Shiro felt something like an iron fist squeeze his chest. It clenched about his lungs. It certainly clenched about his broken heart. The feeling took a hold of him, and it didn't let go. It didn't release. All there was had been the constricting pain of loss, balled up in his chest cavity, strangling him as he bowed his head and cried over the body he cradled in his arms.

It would never release. Not in that life, anyways. He knew that.

Shiro might have only known Lotor for the good few months beforehand, but there was no denying the prince had won a piece of him.

And he took it right with him when he died.

"Champion! Release the body and get on your feet! Now!"

Shiro tensed, his previously clenched eyes snapping open, his grip growing tighter about Lotor's lifeless body, fingers curling into the leather of his armor. Lotor's final plea reverberated about his mind like the forlorn echo of a ghost. Hanging heavy in his mind. In his soul.

Don't let them get you.

The metal clanking of armored footsteps grew closer. Louder. More plentiful as the guards began to surround the Champion, their spears held out in a cautious manner — the same way a man would point a stick towards a lion. Shiro paid no mind to them, his face blank as he lifted his head.

"That was an order! Put the body down, and get on your feet!"

The guard from before barked out his orders again. Shiro only seemed to fully recognize any of what he had said as he trailed his gaze across the sand, empty eyes watching the ground in a numb search. His gaze settled upon the sword he had used to kill Lotor with. It was still splattered with the blood from his palms, the crimson glistening wetly in the sunlight.

Shiro ignored the shouts from the guards as he reached for it with one hand— the other still holding Lotor close to his chest. He seemed calm aside from the reddened face, still streaked with trails of wet tears. He picked up the sword in one hand, trailing that empty stare up and down the bloodied blade, before flicking his gaze back up towards the worried guards that surrounded him. It was sharp enough to cut through armour with enough speed and enough strength — at least chainmail, he bleakly supposed. If he tried hard enough.

"Put down your weapon!" the guard bellowed, voice a bit desperate and trembly. "Don't make us use force!"

Again, the man's shouts went unheard. Shiro shifted his arm, settling Lotor's body ever so delicately on his lap instead of against his chest — laying him down with such caution and such care it was almost like Shiro believed he could still feel it. The guards moved hesitantly closer at the change, but none advanced. Shiro's reputation was one to be feared, of course. No one in their right mind would willingly challenge the Champion — without the proper reluctance, anyways.

Shiro gripped the sword tightly in his fist, holding it up to the sun, watching the light bounce from the silver metal and the crimson blood for a moment or two, studying the curve of its blade. He slowly brought his other hand to the hilt, causing the guards around him to shuffle anxiously. To readjust their grips on their spears and roll their armored shoulders.

Another shout. "Last chance Champion! Drop the sword."

The voice was a mere peripheral as Shiro turned his wrists, changing the way he held the sword. Changing the direction of the blade.

It glinted in the hot sun as he pressed the tip of his sword against his own stomach.

"What... what are you doing?"

Shiro closed his eyes, ignoring them for the last time. There was no fear. There was no regret. There was no apprehension. All there had been was Lotor's words in his head. In his heart.

Don't let them get you.

He wouldn't.

He clenched his hands tightly around the hilt, gathered the strength in his arms, and pushed it forwards.

The blade cut through the chain mail in an instant. It cut through his skin in an instant. Then his muscle. Then his organs. Then through muscle and skin again. And then finally, all the way through the chain mail armor of his back.

Perhaps it wasn't that bad of a sword after all.


	29. Hands Through My Hair

Shiro woke with a gasp.

A heavy, terrified, pained gasp.

His hands flew for his stomach, the memory of that blade piercing through his gut and up through his back fresh — the pain even fresher. However, there wasn't anything there. There was no blade nor blood nor ripped skin — just his shirt and his completely intact body beneath it. He started to lean up, a strangled sort of sound leaving his lips as his mind frantically tried to catch up with the present, but a warm touch against his face stopped him. He flinched — however the moment his eyes traveled further, Shiro found himself slumping back into the throne he had been laying upon. His gaze settled on a blurry Lotor, his vision split by the wall of heavy tears, and Shiro instantly relaxed. He turned his head into Lotor's hand, reaching his own two trembling ones to hold onto him in any way he possibly could.

"Lotor," he croaked, voice hoarse from crying. "I... I saw-"

"I know," Lotor said softly, his eyes fixing on Shiro as he wiped away the tears that spilled down Shiro's cheeks, shushing and soothing him with utmost caution, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead, ever so cautiously. "I know, Shiro... I saw it all too..." he sighed, even him seeing shaken by this turn of events, this reveal, the morbid way that they'd died. "I... had almost forgotten how cruel my father was. There's nothing quite like receiving a reminder... as effective as that."

He didn't look at Allura. He didn't acknowledge her or the solemn way that she looked at the two of them. He didnt want to- he didn't care to focus on her even slightly when Shiro was his main focus right now. He leant in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead again, then one to his cheek, and finally bringing their lips together. He savoured it, this sweetness, this slowness and apprehension mixed in with their tired affection. He just wanted to be with Shiro, to kiss him and hold him and run his fingers through Shiro's hair until the end of time. He now knew why it meant so much to Shiro- the memories of him holding Shiro close, letting Shiro's head lie on his lap as he played with his hair, toying with it, pressing idle kisses along his knuckles and jaw as he did so.

"Even then," Lotor murmured. "Even then, I knew that you were supposed to be an angel... and now..." he moved his hands to his hair, running his fingers through Shiro's hair slowly, carefully, soothing him still. He could feel the grace running through Shiro's veins under his skin. "I know why you found it so easy to take my grace. Why I gave it up so easily."

A small smile appeared on his lips and he began to run his fingers through his hair.  
"I told you that you should have been an angel, and then I made you one."

Shiro had looped his arms around Lotor's waist so his hands both rested on his back, fingers curling into the fabric of Lotor's clothes as he held him close. Shiro held Lotor as if he feared he'd lose him again. As if letting go of Lotor just risked losing him again.

"Zarkon..." he started, still a bit breathless, "Zarkon... Zarkon is an asshole." Shiro closed his eyes tight, grit his teeth, and shook his head a little.

His fists squeezed tighter against Lotor's shirt, and Shiro attempted to pull him closer. He gave a quick sniffle, and then cleared his throat, trying hard to gather himself but finding it nearly impossible. He was still having trouble just realizing he was in the present again. It was like he spent years and years in those memories -- even if they had only spanned a few months.

"He made me... I killed you... Lotor I-... I'm so sorry," he blubbered, the guilt from the battle still present and raw in his system. "God... that sucked. But everything before that was so... so good." Shiro sniffled and fluttered his eyes open, blinking back his tears. "We were... we were gonna get married. Can we still do that? Get married? Do you still want to marry me?"

Lotor laughed softly- not at the bumbling apology and the sudden, uncomfortable show of guilt but from how eagerly Shiro entertained the idea of marriage. How eagerly Shiro asked him if he was still interested, with a hope glimmering in his eyes that Lotor had seen increasingly often- that he almost envied.

He took Shiro's hands, moving one hand to brush away a final tear that seemed to escape Shiro's eyes.  
"Mm, well, there might be a few technicalities, some issues with our species, but I think I could find a way not to care about any of that. I would love to marry you, Shiro. Takashi. I would love to marry you, to make up for what we missed out on."

But Allura cleared her throat from behind him.

"That shouldn't be possible," she said, her eyes flicking between the two of them. "I'm afraid that you two won't be allowed to marry. Your relationship as it stands has caused more than enough damage- news of a marriage between your two species would be far too much, it would overwhelm the angels and demons, it would knock everything off balance. Your existences alone are doing damage. Shiro, while I am proud of your ascent, you were supposed to be a demon. That wasn't meant to change." Shiro swallowed hard at that, eyes flicking off to the side as heat rose up to his cheeks in a light dusting of shame. Allura just continued. "And Lotor... I don't want to delve into all of the issues with you. The fact of the matter is that you two can't marry due to unforeseen consequences that could raise a new form of figurative hell."

Lotor's eyes narrowed.  
"I stopped caring for the consequences of my actions when I was banned from heaven for saving a human's soul," he spat, glaring at her. "I stopped caring for the consequences when I was shown the true way to live life- without eternal happiness and unending peace- where I could have freedom, where I could feel negative things to heal from them. When I had seen the way that my 'fellow angels' truly spoke about me, believing that I couldn't hear them. They can hand a little discord for everything that they put me through."

He got to his feet, sighing, gritting his teeth as tension began to wind into his muscles. Shiro let him go, unclasping his grip from around Lotor's body. He leaned up as Lotor started away, pretending he didn't miss the warmth of his touch as much as he did, reaching a hand up to wipe at his tear crusted eyes. Lotor went on.

 

"I'm going to go to whatever pit of hell my father resides in. I'm going to slaughter him, and every single person I knew in life that abused me, that beat me, that let me face hell as a child- from as young as three years old! The Witch has already perished by my hand, and it will be my father who dies next. Anyone who stands in my way will face the same fate."

Shiro's eyes widened a little, before offering a slow, stupid blind. "Woah, Lotor," he murmured quietly from the throne he still sat on. "I mean... I guess I like the enthusiasm."

His muttered comments went unnoticed.

Allura looked like she was going to open her mouth to object but then fell quiet. She stepped aside, and instead decided to address a different issue.  
"Your mind is poisoned," she said, as if it weren't obvious. "You were clean when you were an angel, but now you're filthy. You can't blame that on anyone but yourself."

Lotor, taking Shiro's hand and intertwining their fingers as if that was his sole way of holding himself back, of stopping him from lashing out- like Shiro was the one tether he had to his own sanity.  
"You say that I'm filthy now? As if I've somehow only just become filthy? You thought I was filthy when we were human. You thought I was vile, you trusted rumours over me, and you took my freedom from me for years for it! Your siege on my castle? I took the blame for that. I took the hit, physically and figuratively. I was banned from leaving the palace for five years because of you! I was beaten, whipped once for every soldier that my father lost- soldier's he wouldn't have cared about if it wasn't another excuse to take out his anger on me."

He gripped tighter to Shiro's hand. His talons dug into flesh- not hard enough to bleed, but hard enough to cause Shiro's eyes to squint and his nose to crinkle up in the slightest of cringes. Lotor didn't even notice, and Shiro didn't speak up to try and stop him..

"For years, I fought back my resentment for you! I told myself that there had to have been a reason for your betrayal! That you didn't simply use me to gain knowledge of my home to invade!"

"I loved you!" Allura argued, her voice a loud and enraged cry, indignant, as if she had some dignity to protect or some reason to preserve the honour of her name. "I loved you! I came to your room night after night, risking my life to see you! Romelle met me and told me everything that had been done with your family name, everything that you had contributed to! Every single thing! And I ended it because I thought you would end up the same as your father!"

Lotor didn't reply for a few moments.  
"You didn't love me," he said finally. "If all it took was a few stories of what had happened under my supervision, that I had contributed to, then you didn't love me. If you did, you would have seen that I was being abused. You would have taken that into account. You would have confronted me, instead of ending it and leaving without hesitation. You wouldn't have attacked my castle, and if you had you would have had the decency in your heart to kill my abuser when I couldn't."

Her eyes narrowed into a glare, fixed on him.

"You deserved what you got," she soon said, her voice full of malice and hatred. "You're more like Zarkon than I could have ever imagined."

Lotor's eyes widened, like the words were a knife to his chest. His eyes, that black sclera, it seemed to bleed into his iris and drown out the lavender, overwhelming his vision with an empty ebony, his hand- the one that wasn't touching Shiro's- beginning to crackle and fizz as he glared at Allura.  
"Take that back," he snarled out, though his voice didn't sound like his own. "After everything you have done, everything you have said... you'd better take that back."

She was silent.

Lotor's anger grew. An air of toxicity began to envelop him, wrapping him up, his own fury suffocating him as he took one, slow step toward Allura, wanting to tear her apart with his own two hands. His anger, his sadness, his trauma and his fear had been hidden from him for millenia under the 'enlightening' rule of angels. Three thousand years of rage being unwound in a moment, pulled like a pin on a grenade, and Lotor was a matter of moments away from exploding.

But the toxic air didn't reach Shiro. In fact, it seemed like Lotor's entire infuriated aura was turning away from Shiro, refusing to expose him to such a state- or possibly being unable to show such a state around someone who not only thought so highly of him, but that he thought so highly of. Unable to be so toxic around someone who gave his life so much meaning, who filled him with such happiness. Who made his hand tingle and buzz from the contact alone.

"You have no right to speak to me like that! This is your last warning," he snarled, though. Just because the energy wasn't reaching Shiro didn't mean that it wouldn't still affect Lotor. "Take that back."

She was silent. Lotor took another step forward, beginning to pull his hand away from Shiro's-

But then Shiro stood from the throne as well, tightening the hold of his hand and settling the other one on Lotor's upper arm. His legs still felt a bit weak from the memories, his head a bit foggy and light from all the tears, but Shiro stayed on his feet anyways, leaning forwards to try and catch Lotor's eye.

"Hey, hey -- Lotor. C'mon, buddy, look at me, okay?" His voice was as soft as before, yet it hadn't been as trembly. It hadn't been as unsteady or hysterical. Shiro reached the hand that had been on Lotor's arm further, moving it gently across Lotor's chest and to the other shoulder before cautiously offering the slightest of tugs to try and turn him around. "Turn around for me real fast. Just look at me."

It took a few more coaxing tugs and quiet murmurs, but soon Shiro had Lotor turned away from the glaring Allura, his back to the goddess he was had previously been threatening. Shiro kept their fingers intertwined, even as Lotor's talons dug into the skin of his dorsal palm, but rose his other hand up to Lotor's face, delicately cupping his jaw and running his thumb in small circles about Lotor's cheek.

Shiro offered a soft smile when Lotor had finally trained his inky gaze back onto him.

"Let's just go home," he said, nodding slightly. "To the warehouse. I... I'm tired of fighting and anger and tears -- all that gross, dumb stuff that ruined everything the first time. Let's just go home and live out our second chance, huh?"

His fingers graced back against Lotor's cheek, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. "We'll figure all this heaven and hell stuff out later... Miss Goddess Allura of lions, or, uh... something like that-" Shiro looked up at her and offered a half apologetic smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "-we'll figure it all out. And we won't do anything stupid, like, throw off the balance of the universe or whatever. I promise."

Shiro's eyes flicked back to Lotor, and softed once again.

"Let's just take a deep breath, and go skip rocks by the stream or something. Anything you want to do. I'm down for it, okay?" He lifted their intertwined hands and brought Lotor's to his lips, kissing across his knuckles, keeping their eye contact. "Okay? Does that sound good?"

It wasn't clear what had gotten to Lotor the most. The kind voice, the way Shiro held him and was still gentle no matter how urgently he tugged, the fingers that brushed tenderly along his cheek when the hair was brushed behind his ear, the way Shiro spoke to him so softly, or even the small kisses along his palm. It wasn't clear what had gotten to him, what had made him change his mind, or if it was just that his focus was wrapped up and focused on Shiro instead of Allura.

But his eyes faded back to normal, and the anger in his system faded away quickly.

"I'm not like him," he said to Shiro, his voice almost pleading, as if he didn't want Shiro to think that- like he thought it would be possible for him to think something so malicious. His voice just suddenly seemed to drop so quiet, desperate, his eyes fixed on Shiro and looking for a sign that he was either believed or not. "I'm nothing like him."

But before he could get a response, as if he'd realised Allura was in the room, he held a little tighter to Shiro's hand and teleported them both out of there, his head spinning with the exertion from having already done so much and using so much energy when the memories had exhausted him, too.

Something about Shiro just soothed him so easily.

Shiro couldn't deny he had been a bit shocked when the marble of Allura's temple had been wrenched from beneath his feet -- he hadn't expected Lotor to whisk the two of them away so quickly. His legs wobbled a bit when the very firm and very real cement flooring of their warehouse appeared beneath them, but Shiro was quick to regain his balance when he felt Lotor waver too. He reached forwards, catching Lotor beneath the arm with his own as he staggered, and then draped that arm over his own shoulders, bolstering the dizzy Lotor and settling his free hand on Lotor's waist.

"Woah, woah -- Lotor," he said, blinking his eyes a little as he glanced around the warehouse. "That was fast. I told you to teleport sparingly, man. Wastes your energy like crazy. Are you alright?"

He began to guide Lotor over to the mattress. Atlas, who had teleported to follow Shiro, appeared behind them and bounded to Shiro's side, giving an annoyed sort of snort as she watched Shiro take Lotor to bed. Shiro looked at her and narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, don't be mad at me," he said, shaking his head. "We didn't forget you, Atlas. Things just got... tense."

She huffed again, but plopped down beside the mattress when Shiro had lowered Lotor down to sit, leaning forwards to offer a consoling lick to his hand.

Shiro turned back to Lotor. "Sorry," he said, offering a gentle and slightly guilty smile. "I feel like I might have started all of that. Should have known better than to talk about getting married in front of the goddess that kinda wants us to hate each other."

"She said what she'd always wanted to say," Lotor murmured as he leant back. Now that the adrenaline from his anger was beginning to fade, he was starting to feel the consequences of not only teleporting, but teleporting someone else without taking a moment to think and prepare the energy. The dizziness was getting better as time went on, becoming less and less severe each time he practiced using it, but that didn't mean that it was suddenly less severe now.

 

He moved his hand to the top of Atlas' head and began to pet her.  
"It's not your fault, so don't blame yourself." He slowly turned his attention to Shiro, learning against him a little and pulling Shiro down. He lay back and pulled Shiro to lie with him, Atlas's head settling on his chest. Lotor coaxed his fingers through her fur, sighing and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You don't think that was Shiro's fault at all, do you? And you don't think I'm anything like my father, do you? No, no you don't."

He moved a little closer to Shiro, as if for protection from the words Allura had already said.  
"How could she have said that?" he asked, his voice quiet and slow, hesitant, anxious. "You... you saw what my father was like. What he did. I'm not like that. I'm not."

But despite the determination in his voice, he didn't quite seem to trust his own words. She'd evidently had quite an effect on him- one that he hadn't shaken off in his outburst. One that snaked its way from his mind through his body in chills that made him tremble and falter, that filled his eyes with warmth that threatened to become tears. It ran through his bones, through his skin, swarmed through his body like a plague and made him sick to his stomach. One that slipped into every scarred-over crevice of his skin and took root in the scars, those permanent reminders of who he had been, those reminders that he refused to look at.

He had spent his whole life trying to be better than his father. Was Allura telling the truth about him? Was he just as bad as his father? His tyrant, abusive father, who slaughtered anyone who disobeyed him without batting an eyelid; who beat and bruised and slashed his son, his blood, for the slightest of mistakes. Who had enjoyed every second of it.

Was he just going to be a reflection of his father's image?

Shiro, nestled up closely to Lotor, nodded his head a little, his grip growing tighter round the creature beside him. He brought up his knees, tangling their legs, his tail just beginning to brush up and around Lotor's calf. Shiro gave a soft sigh, his fingers dragging an idle touch up and down Lotor's exposed skin.

"You're nothing like him," Shiro murmured in a gentle sort of way, nodding his head again. "Nothing. I remember everything now, Lotor -- and I sure as hell remember Zarkon. Everything he was and everything he did. Everything he did to me. You... God, Lotor, you're like the polar opposite of him. Every time I was around him, it was like I couldn't breathe. Like he had a chain around my neck. A knife to my throat. But then when I was with you, it was like... like the first real breath I had taken in a long time. It was freeing, almost, just looking at you."

He was smiling, dragging his touch up Lotor's body, finding the delicate skin of his throat and then the curve of his jaw. Shiro tucked Lotor's hair behind his ear, and then began to trace a line along the structure of his features.

"How could you be anything like that asshole?" His voice lowered down into a gentle sort of hum, his lips curled into a smile. "You're my frickin' soulmate. I have standards, Lotor." Shiro gave a little laugh, and held Lotor a bit closer. His tail wrapped in its usual spot around Lotor's leg, a low purr already beginning to kickstart in his chest. "Let me promise you this. I would never cuddle anyone like Zarkon like this. There is only one person in the whole universe I'd hold so tightly... and it's you."

Lotor looked down at Shiro, running his fingers through Shiro's hair still, though now he wanted to coax more purrs from those perfect lips. He had to admit that he liked how quickly Shiro had launched into affection when Lotor had been upset, liking the way he was held and how the tail curled up around his leg, starting at his calve by his ankle and ending at his thigh. He lay there with Shiro, letting the words run through his mind a little, soothing away his anxiousness bit by bit but not entirely getting rid of it. He just held Shiro, though, cradling him closer and pressing a couple of kisses to his forehead as if his way of saying thanks.

 

"Thank you," was all he managed to get out eventually, his voice shaking a little, his hands wrapped firmly around Shiro to keep the ex-demon as close as he could. He nestled into the crook of Shiro's neck after a few more moments (ensuring that he didn't accidentally impale Shiro with one of his horns), listening to the purrs as he continued to work his talons through Shiro's hair with extreme caution, not taking the risk to tug his hair or get his fingers caught. He wanted to treat Shiro as lovingly as he possibly could, and that was what he was going to do. Until the end of time.

His eyes fixed on Shiro after a few moments, though.

"Tomorrow, or some other time... I want to go out again. On another date, like when we went to the fair together. Just to get away from here for a bit."

Shiro smiled, his lips quirked with a bit more slyness than before as he narrowed his eyes and cocked his brow.

"You're asking me on a date?" he hummed, the purr curling about his words, yet doing nothing to muddle his smug tone. "Of course, Lotor. I'd love that. I can take you anywhere you want to go — especially with these cool new teleportation powers. We could take a whole damn vacation... or maybe just a plain retirement..."

He trailed off, his smile faltering and his eyebrows furrowing as he fell into thought. "I guess... I guess we are retired," he murmured, flicking his eyes off to the side. "I don't think I have to collect souls anymore because I kinda killed my boss. I... wow. I have nothing to do... no goal to work for anymore. I can't tell if that's relieving or... or terrifying." Shiro's purring drawled to a stop, his hold on Lotor relaxing a bit — falling slack. "All it's been for millennia is building up my soul count... but I don't even think I can return to hell like this. Especially not if I've got any sort of angel blood or smell. Everything I worked for... everything I did... it's all kinda pointless now. All those souls I damned, the people I sentenced to Hell. Did I do that all for nothing...?"

The arms around Lotor tightened again, and Shiro snapped his eyes shut before shaking his head a little — back and forth in one fast sort of cringe.

"Sorry- forget it," he muttered, offering a huff of a laugh. "Fixed soul equals fixed conscious. I'll get over it." Shiro opened up his eyes and fixed his gaze upon Lotor, the smile not quite reaching his eyes that time. "Alright. Back on that date — where are we going?"

"A museum," Lotor answered, deciding it was better for them both if he didn't indulge in Shiro's little crisis. It would be better for Shiro. Mostly because he didn't want to delve into that subject, but also because bringing up the idea that millennia's work doing evil potentially being futile wasn't the best way to plan for their next date. "There's a museum nearby, and it's got an exhibit on the Galra Empire. I figured that it would be... it would be nice if we went together. Not for any specific reason, I know that it could backfire, but there were some good aspects of the empire and I didn't get to show you them myself. Perhaps the exhibit could help do that for me."

He leant in, pressing a delicate kiss to Shiro's lips as if to help divert his focus away from the morbidness of his prior topic, to keep it on the subject of their date, their potential date.  
"I'd love it if we could go together," he said again, voice soft. "Even just for an afternoon. I'm sure there's so much that I didn't get to see in my lifetime that could be in the museum, and... if we're lucky they could have information on some of the places taken over, including your old village. Would you like to go?"

Shiro blinked, furrowing his brow a bit a looking at Lotor with a sort of skeptical stare.

"I... I mean of course but are you sure you want to go to an exhibit all about the empire that literally ruined our lives?" he asked. Shiro's eyes rounded with concern, and he brought Lotor a little closer, reaching a hand up to mindlessly curl a strand of his hair about his finger. "If you want to go -- if that's something you really want to do -- I'm down for it. I just don't want to go and look at statues praising that... that monster. He was Emperor. I'm sure the whole thing is about him and his reign. I don't think that would be a good thing to see right now. For either of us."

He gave a soft sigh, and let his eyes settle to a close, pushing up a bit closer to Lotor. Those feelings from his previous crisis sat very presently in the base of his chest, and they didn't mix very well with the thought of Zarkon's legacy as a rich leader outliving all of the evil he had done in his lifetime. However, Shiro kept both at bay for the sake of Lotor, cozying up close beside him, and choosing to focus on the beating of his heart.

"If it's what you need, we'll go," he said, nodding. "But right now... right now I think I need to take a nap. Like, a really good nap."

 

"We can go whenever you're ready," Lotor said as he moved closer to Shiro, pressing close again, still running his talons through Shiro's hair with that loving cautiousness. "Rest, Shiro. You need it, you deserve it. The least I can do for you is let you rest as much as you need."

He did have to admit that the mention of a nap suddenly sounded a lot more appealing than the idea of going out again. Just once, just one nap. That was all that he wanted, a few hours to breathe and relax and sleep. Maybe they'd both be a little more level headed in the morning.

Shiro had already been drifting off -- his eyes in that gentle close, his hold around Lotor close and comforting. The purr already began to kick up again in his chest at the touch of Lotor's hand in his hair. It was his weak spot -- he supposed it had been his weak spot even in his life. Shiro also supposed Lotor always knew that, too. He knew how to take advantage of it. Somehow, Shiro couldn't find the will to care -- actually, he had to admit that the gentle combing of his fingers through his hair had been a pretty nice way to be taken advantage of. The sluggish, content idea made Shiro smile a bit as his thoughts began to pool into the relaxed state of slumber.

Moments later, Shiro was asleep in Lotor's arms.


	30. Our Legacy

"You'd think me going all 'God Squad' would make humans smell more appealing," Shiro muttered from behind his surgical mask -- something he had summoned in just a mere instant of standing in the streets of that city. "But nope. They still stink."

The museum that stood before them was taller -- wider. Squeezed together between two other buildings, of course as cities go, but wider than most. It was made from clean, white stone, surrounded in an iron gate and well kept gardens of shrubbery, all speckled with white flowers of springtime. Shiro could only just smell them beneath the exhaust from all of the cars and the busses of the street and all of the suffocating sewage of the sewers below. The banners hung longways off of the building, the logo of the museum flashing every time the flags would whip in the gusts of wind that winded their way through the city.

Shiro didn't know that the museum would be in the city, but he also couldn't say no to Lotor when he had found out. He just had to roll his eyes, scrunch up his nose, and then teleport the two of them to the front steps of the museum -- each of them disguised in their human appearances and each one with fifty bucks tucked into their pockets, thanks to Shiro. He should have figured the place would be in one of the more metropolitan areas, most tourist traps like museums were. Shiro just hoped that his demon senses had been lost along with his demon soul... but of course like his horns and like his tail and his purring defect, Shiro was stuck with the ability to smell each and every toxic fume in a fifteen mile radius of him.

He stepped a little closer to Lotor, slinking his arm around his waist. Shiro was wearing a black suit with white decals that matched his hair. His prosthetic, as usual, was disguised as a human one -- illusioned to be crafted from metal instead of magical... whatever it was really made from. His horns were gone, replaced with the simple fluff of his newer snowy hair. His surgical mask was black to contrast, made from a nice smelling fabric, infused with his favorite scents. He turned up to look at Lotor, delivering a pout -- one considerably dampered from the mask, but a pout nonetheless -- and leaning into him with a whine.

"It's giving me a headache, babe," he drawled, pitching his brow. "Will you kiss it to make it feel better?"

Lotor's eyes fixed on Shiro, a small amused smile curling onto his lips even as he tried to hide it with his sympathetic pout.  
"Oh, darling," he said in an overly sweetened tone, pulling Shiro closer to him by his waist and learning down, pressing a soft kiss to Shiro's forehead. He pressed one between his eyes, too, and then one more to each side of his head, on his temple. "Does it feel better now?" he asked, his tone soft and purred, almost mocking but not quite- as if he was tempted to laugh but still had to force himself to be at least a little sincere.

Shiro gave a thoughtful hum, his eyes having settled into a gentle close at the touch of Lotor's lips pressing upon his head. "I guess so," he said to Lotor. "I could do with more kisses, though. Those are always nice." He managed to lean even more of his weight against Lotor, nearly draping himself over Lotor's chest. He was just too lovely to not cling to in such a way.

Lotor had his own human disguise on- something he was glad he'd already known how to do, and even more glad that it didn't take insane amounts of energy to do. His hair was still white, though this time with a slightly blond sheen. He left his eyes purple but took away his black marks and his horns. He even put in the effort to make his talons into humans hands- something he would do more often if it weren't so draining- topped off with black manicured nails with small white and lavender decals on them, matching the clothes he wore. White jeans, skintight and perfectly clean, high-waisted for his lavender dress shirt to be tucked into, and a white blazer. His buttons were black, as were the cuffs of his sleeves on the shirt and the edges of the collar.

And when Shiro looked at him, he could see the nude shimmer of Lotor's eyelids, the golden highlight in his inner corner and brushed over his cheekbones and the cupids bow of his lips. It was subtle, yes, but it made him so much more breathtaking with hardly any effort. Though, he supposed, Lotor always did look beautiful.

Lotor moved one hand to cup Shiro's cheek, having missed the feeling of real fingers brushing along skin, having missed how it felt to have real fingers instead of those ugly claw-things.

"I'm sure it'll be better when we get into the museum," he promised softly, a smile still present on his lips. "People don't visit often, and as we're here while kids and teens would be in school, there definitely won't be many people to worry about."

Lotor took ahold of Shiro's hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing his knuckles tenderly.  
"Come on, let's get inside."

Shiro gave a soft sigh, his lips curled up into a gentle smile beneath his mask. "Alright," he murmured, standing up straight off of Lotor. He let Lotor kiss his knuckles a bit more, watching in an adoring sort of manner, his head tilted to the side as he watched him. Once he was done, however, Shiro began to pull Lotor over to the front doors, passing through the iron gate and stepping up the cleanly swept steps. "I want to look at the animal statues too. Not the dead taxidermy ones, duh. But I'm sure there's cool old stone carvings and stuff."

"What about some of the stuffed animals? The ones we could get at the gift shop?" Lotor said with a smile, taking Shiro's hand. "You lit up when I got you that wolf at the fair. We could get you another one if you'd like."

Shiro looked up at him, grinning again. "Hell yeah," he said, nodding his head. "That would be great."

They got to the door, and Shiro pulled it open, holding it for Lotor before stepping into the building himself. It had been like stepping into a new world, really -- it was darker in there. Quieter. As soon as the heavyset door clapped to a close behind them, the sounds of the bustling streets had been swiftly silence, and replaced with the comfortable murmur of the few families that morosed about the exhibits. Shiro looked around, smelling the polish that they waxed the marble floors with and then smelling the antiquity of all the other leather and metal and stone. All of the history was just... maybe a bit overwhelming upon first whiff -- but soon it settled into something like the smell of an old book past the cover of his mask.

Shiro, after taking a moment to look around, starting forwards to main desk, crafted from dark, polished wood that glinted beneath the waxy yellow lights that down hung from the ceiling. The man at the desk looked up from his phone at their approach, and feigned a smile. He leaned up in his seat, and peered forwards at them.

"Welcome to the International Hall of Science and History -- can I help you?"

After flicking a glance over to Lotor, Shiro nodded his head and looked back to the desk. "Yeah, uh -- how much for two tickets?"

The man leaned back to check the computer screen. "Two would be about twenty bucks," the man answered, nodding his head. "But veterans get a discount, sir."

Shiro cocked his head. "Uh, alright?" he muttered with a huff of a laugh, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a twenty. He held it out for the man, holding it between his fingers. "No tax?"

The man looked down to Shiro's arm, and then back up again. "Yeah, no tax. You don't want the discount, sir?"

Shiro made a face. "I'm not a veteran, kid," he muttered, flicking the dollar bill about. Lotor glanced at Shiro, cocking a brow.  
"You were a general in the army, though. Just not too recently. That makes you a veteran." He stated it like it was obvious- like he wasn't talking about something that happened over three thousand years ago, even before Shiro was kidnapped by the Galra Empire. "And then you fought for your life in a pit, and then you were tortured. I think that you qualify for the veterans discount."

There was a slight beat of silence, the man's mouth falling open -- his eyes widened, brow raising high with both his surprise and his confusion.

"It's just fifteen with the discount," the man muttered quietly, taking the twenty from Shiro and leaning back. "I'll give you back your change."

Shiro turned to Lotor, furrowing his brow as the man fiddled with the cash register. "That was, like, thousands of years ago," he said quietly, shaking his head. "I only just remembered it all yesterday. I don't think it counts all that much."

"Yes, but it still happened and now that you remembered if you've got all of the trauma that comes with it. You were offered the discount, take the discount."

"Oh, whatever, I'll take the stupid discount," Shiro mumbled, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the man behind the desk, who stared at the pair of them with wide, rounded gaze.

He held his hand out and took the change from the kid, stuffing the five dollar bill in his pocket and nodding at him before turning and starting forwards towards the first exhibit. He tried to ignore the wildly confused stare he felt trail after them -- but there was no hiding his smirk as he stepped down the hall, Lotor on his tail.

Lotor took Shiro's hand after a moment, moving to catch up to him and glancing at the sign that pointed up the stairs, to the left, and to the right. It seemed to occur to him very strongly in that moment that while he could speak english and understand it, he'd never learned to read it. He could speak in just about any language, provided he spent long enough with people who spoke it to begin developing his understand it, but reading it and speaking it were entirely different skills.

The Galran alphabet had consisted of entirely different characters, which only made this more difficult.

"What does that say?" he asked, frowning, though his words had come out quieter and more hesitant than hoped. He didn't like the idea of admitting to not knowing something- especially something as crucial as knowing how to read a certain language. "I used to be able to translate those things, but now that I've seemingly lost that ability, I can't read what the sign says."

Shiro looked at the sign and narrowed his eyes. He took his hand from Lotor's, and instead slipped it around Lotor's waist -- pulling him closer as he stepped up to the sign, using his other hand to point up at it. He started with the first line, the one with the bolder letters.

"It says that the science exhibits are upstairs, and the history exhibits are downstairs," he said, not a hint of teasing or mocking in his voice as he read the sign aloud. Shiro turned to look at Lotor, offering a smile. "I could maybe teach you how to read English sometime. We have an eternity of pretty much nothing to do so... why not learn how to read every damn language, yeah?"

"An eternity for you to teach me everything?" Lotor asked, looking up at his boyfriend with a smile. "I'd like that a lot. I'm sure you'd be a good teacher."

Shiro blushed, smiled, and turned back towards the sign, reading the second line to himself, and then to Lotor. "That second little bit says that to the left is their big American history exhibit, and that the right is the European exhibit... including their newly installed section all about the Galran Empire." Shiro's voice got a bit quieter at that point, and he swallowed hard as he flicked his suddenly wary gaze back to Lotor. "I'm guessing you want to go there first?"

Lotor offered a smile, taking Shiro's hand and lacing their fingers together.  
"I'd like that," he nodded softly, a smile appearing on his lips as he began to press up to Shiro's side. "Feel free to lead the way." But he kept walking, dragging Shiro along as he knew that Shiro wouldn't be too keen to go. He wanted to- both out of curiosity and to soothe his own anxieties. He wanted to know how the empire ended, how it had crumbled, who had done it and when, how his death and life was recorded, he wanted to know if Shiro was anywhere in their data. He wanted to know everything that he hadn't known in life. He was given a rare opportunity to be more aware than he'd been before, to learn more about himself and how his life had gone down in history.

He didn't know if he'd get another chance to see this exhibit, but he hadn't wanted to go alone. So here he was, hand in hand with Shiro, pushing open the door to the Galra exhibit and being immediately overwhelmed with nostalgia and an undeniable sense of unease. There, in front of him, were glass casings where mannequins were donned in armour of the highest to the lowest ranks in the empire. There was a set of armour from 'Warlord Sendak' in one of the cases- a stunning set made of silver with gold and diamonds to both decorate and protect. Lotor decided to keep Shiro away from there, but when he turned his head he was met with the sight of his father's armour.

It was the same he'd worn every day, and to it's left was some of the broken pieces of his war armour. He died in battle. And, judging from the amount of wounds, he'd gotten what he deserved. That didn't make it any less jarring, though, seeing his armour preserved with intense caution and put up in a glass case for all to see. Not only that, but the fact that the title "Emperor Zarkon Daibazaal" was put in large letters along the top of the case containing both kinds of armour.

But Lotor didn't let it faze him. He hadn't come here for his trauma to manifest, he'd come here to satisfy his curiosity. So he moved to the first panel, where there was a lot of writing that he couldn't read.

"Shiro," he said, taking ahold of his hand a little more firmly, pulling him closer. "What does this say?"

But Shiro hadn't really been looking there. His eyes were trained on something deeper in the room, having gone round and inawed. It took him a moment to even recognize Lotor had said anything to him, and then even longer to realize Lotor had brought them up to Zarkon's old armor. Instead of paying attention to the sign Lotor had asked him to read, Shiro lifted his hand and pointed to the far side of the room.

"I think you might need a better disguise than that, Lotor," he murmured, voice quiet with his own shock.

Lotor seemed to follow Shiro's pointing hand with a cocked brow and confusedly narrowed eyes, but the moment he caught sight of what Shiro had, he adopted the same look of the ex-demon beside him. A statue, nearly as tall as the room had been and encased and a preserving layer of glass, stood triumphant beneath white spotlights, surrounded with the occasional museum goer and plaque among golden tinted plaque of information. There was no denying who the statue had been of -- Shiro had noted the resemblance the instant his sweeping gaze had caught onto it, maybe a moment or two after Lotor had dragged him into the Galran exhibit. Lotor's image had been carved out of pristine white stone, the flow of the outfit and hair even in the carved rock so ethereal it made Shiro's throat click a bit when he swallowed. The Lotor from those correct memories made his chest warm and the backs of his eyes hot -- just the mere image of it made him clutch Lotor closer, like he feared to lose him again.

He supposed all those emotions had still been rather raw.

Shiro turned back to the plaque before Zarkon's old armor, dully wondering where his statue must have been, but the further he skimmed through the passage engraved into the golden little square presented before his case, the more Shiro's jaw dropped with surprise.

"It... it basically says that he was an asshole," Shiro murmured, shaking his head.

He leaned forwards, and read word for word off of the golden plaque before them. "'Emperor Zarkon was a ruthless, bloody ruler who killed his way to the throne and cheated his way to keep ahold of it. His generals would capture the armies of smaller, less powerful countries and force the prisoners to fight and kill each other in his famous Colosseum for entertainment. Note: see section three for more details on the gladiators of the Galran Empire.'" Shiro paused to clear his throat and let the soft chill that overtook his system pass before continuing on with the reading. "'Historians tend to write Emperor Zarkon Daibazaal as one of the most cruel figures in human history. He was a liar, a murderer, a thief, and an abusive father to his one and only son Prince Lotor Daibazaal. Note: see section four for more details on the tragic story of Prince Lotor Daibazaal, one of history's most famous LGBT icons.'"

He blinked, and then looked up at Lotor, parted lips curling into an impressed sort of smile. "Holy shit, Lotor," he said, laughing a little. "You're, like, famous. That... that whole section over there?" Shiro lifted his hand to point back at the statue again. "That must be all about you. Like, the whole thing."

Lotor still hadn't quite shifted his eyes off of his statue, which stood so proud, so tall- it must have been carved after he'd passed, he'd never seen it around the town before and he'd never considered that he would have been able to get a statue. He'd never even begun to consider that his abuse would be a historical fact, either, especially when anyone he'd told as a child had laughed and brushed it off, doubting that Zarkon would 'ever do that'. He was still a little in shock.

"The whole thing?" he echoed quietly, suddenly finding the exhibit overwhelming for en entirely different reason. He, son of Zarkon, had gone down in history? He, someone so frequently known as blemish to the race or as a wayward disappointment, had been marked down as an icon?

He turned his head to Shiro, attempted to address any other aspect of his plaque or of what he'd just been told, but all that managed to fall past his lips was

"What's an LGBT?" an acronym that he was entirely unfamiliar with, but felt like he should have known what it said if it was something being used to describe him. His eyes flickered to Shiro and then back to the plaque. He didn't know if Shiro would know, either, but he figured that if he was going to ask anyone it was going to be Shiro anyway. It must have been a common modern thing so he didn't want to approach anyone and ask- not with a statue that looked conspicuously like him standing tall under so many spotlights.

Shiro gave a quick shrug, lifting his free hand and flicking it, summoning up a pair of aviator sunglasses before offering it Lotor's way.

"I dunno — sounds like a sandwich I had once," he said. Shiro nodded his head towards Lotor's statue, section four, and started to walk towards it. He dragged Lotor along with him, still holding out the sunglasses. "Let's go find out. Slip those on so people don't make connections."

Once Lotor had the sunglasses pushed up his nose, Shiro turned and made a direct line for section four. He saw the lights of the section before it in his peripheral — an alcove in the room, bathed in yellowish, somber lighting — and he ignored it. Shiro had to say he preferred to read all about his lover's legacy instead of everything the museum might have had on him. They had been mean enough to Zarkon... Shiro could only imagine the things they had to say about Zarkon's Champion.

They approached the statue, finding it the most crowded spot in the exhibit. Of course, the museum didn't seem to be having a busy day, but all the tourists and curious pedestrians that did purchase a ticket seemed attracted to the beautiful work of art before them. Shiro looked up and studied it, his features softening the moment he met the statues kind eyes — a gentle sense of nostalgia creeping into his chest like fog or mist.

Finally, he remembered what it was he missed so much.

"It's beautiful," Shiro murmured, turning to look at Lotor — comparing the two. His gaze then flicked down to the series of plaques and cases of artifacts that surrounded the statue all the way around. "You ready for me to start reading, babe, or do you wanna take a minute or so? I'd understand."

Lotor took a few steps toward his statue, gleaming in it's perfectly carved marble, though he had no idea how it had been so perfectly preserved. He took a step closer still, studying the smooth slant of his own jaw and cheekbone, the almost shape of his eyes, the length of his hair (which made him grimace at the reminder of how short his was now). He looked so noble. He looked far better than he expected to have been depicted, a sword in one hand and a book in the other- a balance of knowledge and strength that he hadn't seen in statues before. He must have been a new kind of leader, a new attempt at leadership, one that the empire had seen the potential for enough to create this memorial. One that the empire hadn't gotten because of Zarkon's bloodlust.

"Please, read it," he urged Shiro, his few moments of adoration having begun to pass. He had to admit, though, that he doubted his sense of being overwhelmed would fade anytime soon, not at least until they were back home, and he wanted to know what the plaque said, wanted to devour every little slither of information on him and his life that he possibly could. He wanted to hear everything, to know anything, his lust for knowledge urging him to ask Shiro, to demand him, to tug him forward by his sleeve and look up at him with wide, hopeful eyes, anticipating whatever he had to say next. Hoping desperately that there was something else good about him. He'd never been anything but a mistake- he wanted to have something, just one thing, that said that he wasn't. If this museum was that one thing, he would be more than happy.

Shiro nodded slowly, a light smile quirking at his lips as he held Lotor's hand tightly in his own.

The first few plaques were about Lotor's earlier stages of life -- they seemed to cover every stage from childhood to his death with the appropriate artifacts in glass cases beside each section. All of the information came directly from Lotor's diary entries he had kept all his life since he could write. Pictures of those frayed and wrinkled pages were displayed about the walls on electronic screens. Shiro braced himself read the golden plaques aloud -- the early ones all about Lotor's cruel childhood in a low. He read it all in a low, somber sort of voice, holding the tense Lotor a bit closer to him as he went on. Luckily, the descriptions were a bit briefer due to the size of the plaques themselves, but Shiro couldn't deny how much every word seemed to make Lotor grow all the more uncomfortable beside him. By the time they had read all the way up to his late teens, Shiro held Lotor's hand in both of his own, soothingly running his touch across Lotor's knuckles, trying to at least numb some of the memories with the sweetness of their present.

Next came the story of Allura -- something Shiro knew all too well. They read through it both, just the name of the goddess causing Lotor to scowl. Shiro tried to cheer him up with the occasional one-liner, but most of his attempts received a weak twitch of a smile and a half-hearted nod. It was then Shiro simply fell into a sort of auto-piloted reading, understanding that Lotor didn't come to that exhibit to hear Shiro goof off or fool around -- he wanted every detail and every truth and every legacy. Shiro just read on without stopping, eyes trained dully on the plaques before him as he read word for word in a quieter tone to keep from disturbing the other museum goers. He didn't falter for awhile, really -- not even when he described the Altean's attack on the Galran palace.

It wasn't until Lotor's Later Years and Death when Shiro found himself cutting himself short.

"These next panels will cover the tragic end of Prince Lotor and... and his final lover..." Shiro had trailed off, swallowing hard before managing to mutter those next two words. He cleared his throat and backtracked a moment, squeezing Lotor's hand a little tighter than he meant to. "And his final lover, Takashi Shirogane. Note: to see more details on Takashi Shirogane, see section three."

Shiro gave an awkward laugh, and then an even more awkward roll of his shoulders, all while keeping his forceful gaze turned away from Lotor as he continued.

"'A little over a year before Prince Lotor Daibazaal's death, he notes in his journal that 'he found himself drawn to The Champion'. 'Champion', Takashi's alter ego, was Zarkon's most popular gladiator and would be until the end of the empire, with a striking body count of...'" Shiro trailed off, face paling a bit at the number presented.

He skipped it and continued.

"'Lotor explains in his diary that he volunteered to bring the Champion his prize for his successful fight. Their relationship only sparked from there after Lotor promised Takashi he would sit with him during meals. It progressed from a hesitant friendship to something much more when the prince snuck Takashi from one of his father's dinner parties. Their first kiss was shared that night, marking the start to one of history's most iconic and tragic love stories.'"

Shiro flicked his eyes to the display case, and reached a hand up to point at the items beneath the glass. "Those are supposed to be some of the old wine goblets we drank out of," he said, looking at the rusted, dented old cups. Shiro gave a soft laugh. "They, uh, looked much better in the memories, huh?" His voice was strained -- anxious and awkward. Shiro didn't know why he had the sudden urge to stall the rest of the story... but he had stopped walking, his knees locked and his gaze firmly trained on the old goblets as if they had been the most interesting thing.

Lotor kept a tight hold on Shiro's hand, having been enraptured in the story, in Shiro's voice, in listening to the soft purring storytelling that made him forget about everything but the perfect world they'd once shared.

When Shiro had spoken up, though, changing the story for some other comment, Lotor figured that perhaps he needed a break from retelling a life he only recently remembered living.

"They did," he said quietly. "Far golder, and safer to drink from." His head tipped up, his eyes fixing on Shiro. "This was... more pleasant than I expected. Don't you agree? No historical slander, you're not some monster and I'm nothing that my father insisted I would turn out to be."

A small smile curled onto his lips.

"We were so afraid of being known for what we weren't." His gaze drifted back to the plaques that he couldn't read. "We forgot about what we'd be remembered for."

Shiro bit the inside of his cheek, the number of his body count still hanging heavily in his mind.

"Yeah," he murmured, in spite of that pinch in his chest cavity. He nodded his head, eyes still focused upon those cups. "We were certainly remembered for... things."

He looked up, finally, but still he kept from looking at Lotor. His gaze drifted over the two plaques left, an acidy sort of feeling stirring up in his gut at the sight of how little was left. Shiro shook his head a little, took a deep breath, and then flashed an empty smile up at Lotor, cocking his head.

"My, uh, throat is getting dry," he said, half lying, half not. "Wanna hit the food court and then come back after? We can get a milkshake or something and share it like those stupid couples in romance movies do." Shiro started to walk away, slow and coaxing as he attempted to tug Lotor along with him. "It's not like we don't know what happens -- it's fine. No cliffhangers or anything."

Lotor didn't move, though, not even as Shiro kept moving away, not even with their hands still locked together. He didn't want to leave- not even just for a milkshake. Not even just for a drink. In fact, he pulled back his hand.  
"You can go," he said softly, his eyes still fixed on the plaque. "I... I'll be somewhere around here when you get back. Okay? I won't go far... I don't think. There isn't going to be too much time before the museum closes and I want to make sure I can appreciate everything."

The museum didn't close for at least another six hours. What was Lotor on about? Did he plan on spending six hours at this museum? Just looking at his own exhibit, even if he couldn't read any of the information provided?

His eyes didn't even flicker to Shiro. He took a slight step away from him, only to get a better look at what was in the frame beside the goblets. Inside which held a scrappy looking diary that he recognised as his own. Around it, several trinkets- Shiro's wedding ring was there, along with the small and plain one that Lotor had gotten for himself (black with a ring of amethyst around the centre) and the necklace. Every little gift from the market was put upon that shelf, each with their own card describing what they were.

Lotor felt like a child, seeing so many wonderful things. He felt like he was looking in on someone else's life, not on his own, just seeing what gifts he had gotten for Shiro all over again. It wasn't much, but it seemed to mean everything to Lotor, and it had meant everything to Shiro in life.

He'd stay is this exhibit for the rest of his life if this light nostalgia stayed with him the whole time.

Shiro stood in dilemma for a moment or two, watching Lotor with wide, nervous eyes, and then flicking them about the room as he began to wonder what would be best. Leaving? Staying? Telling Lotor the truth about how overwhelmingly terrifying the idea of reading what he had done aloud had been? Shiro anxiously juggled the ideas about in his head for a moment or so, his bottom lip settled between his teeth.

At the look of peaceful adoration presented upon Lotor's features, however, Shiro found that there hadn't really been a choice in the first place.

He gave a low sigh, and moved forwards again, reaching a hand up to rub his temple as he stood in his place beside Lotor, looking back to the plaques again.

"No use in going by myself," he mumbled with a shrug. "Do you want me to keep reading or do you want to keep looking at... hey! Aren't those all the things you bought me?"

The slight lift in Shiro's voice rose it a level or two, attracting odd stares from passing humans -- odd stares Shiro didn't even seem to notice as he leaned a bit closer to the class case, ignoring the no touching rule as he tapped against the surface.

"Holy shit and that's my ring too!" he said, laughing a little. Shiro looked up to Lotor, and cocked his head to the side. "Do you think they'd believe us if we told them it was ours? I kinda want it back..." he trailed off, narrowing his eyes at the collection of aged artifacts. "It wouldn't be that hard to steal if they said no, though."

"I don't want you to try," Lotor said with a smile. "I want us to go. We can look around everywhere and then, when we're satisfied, we can come back and you can steal as much of everything as you want." He took Shiro's hand, leaning in and kissing his cheek, a warm smile still evident on his lips. He wanted to look around everywhere with Shiro, so he began through to the next room in the exhibit, a large room full of thin glass cases that lined the walls, full of paper after paper. Copies of Lotor's diary, plastered along the walls in Galran with translations underneath.

Lotor's private diary, being read by every single visitor that had stepped foot into this room. He couldn't help but turn a disgustingly vibrant shade of red out of sheer humiliation.  
"Oh ancients," Lotor said, his voice quiet, his face flushed. "You're not allowed to read a single thing in this room, Takashi, I'm warning you. This is my diary. These are all supposed to have been private thoughts and retellings of my experiences that I wanted to look back on one day. Alone. You aren't allowed to read any of it."

Shiro looked at him and smirked, his eyes visibly brighter now that Lotor had taken him away from those previous plaques. He leaned a bit closer, tone dropping to a teasing sort of hum. "Well, can I at least read the ones that are about me?" he asked in a low purr, cockng his head to the side. "Or do you have some unsavory thoughts about me in there? I mean, I wouldn't be surprised. Super jacked gladiator who's mysterious, intense, and sensitive." Shiro gave a smirk and stood up straight, pointing to himself with his thumb. "Who wouldn't want a piece of that, right?"

He laughed when Lotor's face somehow deepened in its shade of red, and he slumped against him, wrapping an arm around his waist and holding him tight in a sort of apology.

"It was a joke, babe -- I promise I won't read it if you don't want me to," he said, still snickering as he started to drag his gaze about the room. "But, to be fair, I am your kind-of fiance. All these strangers are reading it so why can't-... oh shit." Shiro's smile slipped from his features, and his own blush rose to his cheeks, eyes flicking down to the floor -- away from the display case hung against the far wall.

Shiro lifted his hand to cover one side of his face, and used the other to swiftly summon himself a pair of sunglasses. Luckily, his mask had been covering up most of his face anyways, but he'd rather be safe than sorry. When he leaned up to meet Lotor's confused stare, Shiro offered a smile, and nodded back to the display he had noticed before.

"It's your art," he said, watching Lotor follow the gentle nod of his head. "And it looks like I was your muse."

On the wall across from Lotor's diary entries had been a case completely filled with works of art -- large and small, sketches and studies and even the occasional painting. Most of which, to no surprise, had been of Shiro. Sketches of his face and expression in dark ink on old, yellowed parchment paper. Pages of sketchbooks with doodle upon doodle and figure upon figure of the nearly sullen gladiator and his seriously set expression. Beside the display case had been a long screen, showing every drawing in computerized detail in a sort of slower slideshow.

"You drew me a lot, huh?" Shiro asked, cocking his head at the ex-angel before him. "I have to say I'm flattered."

Lotor, for a few moments, debated arguing or denying it, but with everything already sprawled out in front of him he knew that there was no point in trying to refuse it. Saying he didn't draw Shiro that much was a lie when a slideshow was playing of everything he'd drawn of Shiro. Where were the rest of his works? Not just his sketches, like everything of Shiro, but his paintings and his sculptures and his portraits. Where was everything else he'd worked on in his life?

"You were my muse," he said softly, his eyes finding Shiro's again. "I'd sit in your cell and you'd occasionally fall asleep, so I'd take my diary from my bag and begin to sketch. I never left it alone for fear of it being found and used against me, and I always had graphite or charcoal sticks for when I want to practice my sketching. Sometimes... oh, sometimes you would go to sleep and curl up under the blanket and look so perfectly peaceful that I'd almost forget that there was ever anything wrong. I'd capture the moment.When you were awake, I'd sketch and sketch for hours and you never noticed."

He smiled softly, fondly, his eyes fixing on the screen as it showed through drawing after drawing, each carefully illustrated with so much love Lotor could almost feel it, feel the nights spent perfecting sketches, thinking of Shiro as he worked and worked, getting the thoughts of him out onto the welcoming blank pages that absorbed his anxiety and his fears the same way they did his love and his desire. The way Shiro was perfectly embodied. Not as a Champion, not as a fighter, but as Shiro.

"Besides, there weren't many people around me that I could sketch who weren't abominations or monsters." He moved closer to Shiro and took ahold of his hand, pressing to his side. Looking at the screen with curiosity. "You... can look at some of them if you want. The entries."

Lotor's eyes drifted to a small square painting placed beneath two copies of his writing and translations. He approached, standing before the letters to read them, thankful that they were there. He could read Galran without the need for translation.

'We left. Not for long, but surely for more than a few hours. I asked him to come with me, out, to accompany me to the stream that he could see from the gap in his wall. He agreed.

Hesitant, of course, as was to be expected but I'd already planned for the worst outcome. I knew everywhere we could go, everywhere we could hide, and I'd hidden a coin purse in the picnic basket if he wanted to run. Part of me insists that if he said he wanted to leave, to turn his back on this place and never return, I would give him his money and let him go as far as he wanted until my father passes. That's when it would be safe for his return. That's when I could take the throne and he could return, a citizen instead of a monster. Alas, before I can consider it for too long, the anxieties begin to build up. Who would I be, to tell him to run? Who would I be to condemn him to a life on the run, escaping capture and finding safety in potentially worse company? Who would I be to give him money and a farewell to leave him to fend for himself? In an empire where he knows nobody, knows nothing, but everyone knows him; I fear the worst would happen to him. The worst has happened to me, and I will shield him from as much as I can.

I find myself distracted. I wanted to spill out my memories of the stream, not to confess fears I've scrawled unto these pages one-thousand times over already. So I will reprimand myself and bring my focus to where it should be: Our escape. A small hideaway, a daring adventure that leaves me with a taste for misbehaving but a need for an escape.

We went to the stream. With the tranquil running water, the birds chirping in the trees and fluttering in the sky, with the bushes blooming with roses and the lilypads caught in still ponds nearby. My father had left the party and I had taken him while I could, leading him to our little escape. To a place where we could forget who we were- a prince and a prisoner- and focus on who we were with. I don't know what he sees me as, but I know what I see him as. I know that he's a hero, brave, strong, but misplaced. I know that he's an angel, belonging in the heavens as a gift to earth, but misplaced. I know that he is everything that I've needed, and he could be everything that I crave. And when we sat there in front of that stream, with the golden evening sun casting fire onto the waves, I knew that I was who I wanted to be. Beside him, I'm no prince, no monster, no 'Son Of Zarkon, Next In Line'. I'm not his 'Highness'. I'm me. I'm Lotor.

We talked. We drank smuggled wine and snacks. We fed each other, we talked, we lay back, and we confessed. I couldn't quite find the strength to unburden myself fully, to tell him of any feelings or admiration I held to him, but as we lay there under the sun, the alcohol buzzing through our bodies, I knew that it felt right. I knew that he felt the same.

Or, perhaps, I had just been so hopeful that I hadn't registered what I was doing before my lips were against his.'

The first page cut off there, and Lotor paused for a few moments. He'd seen that memory- he thought back to it often, too, when he had been with Sendak he had clung to it like a pillar of safety, like a rock in a whirlpool, like the only thing that kept him from being dragged under and drowned. But he wanted to keep reading, so he did. He did. He devoured every single word that he possibly could, he read and he read and he read. He drank in his own memories so eagerly, he almost forgot that they were his own.

'It felt perfect. He didn't pull away, and nor did I- not for a while. And when we did, we kissed again. A few times, in fact. And then we returned home, reluctant but with lightness in our hearts and our systems buzzing with the alcohol. I was already beginning to plan out our next escapade, which I was planning on scheduling for a few weeks later, when my father was going to be visiting Sendak for an evening to discuss battle plans. With the devils gone, I will release the angel for another night. We will go wherever he wants- to the stream again, if he desires, or perhaps to the beach, if not for a walk around the market. I know of a few spots in the forest he would like.

But it was the calm before the storm. My father had noticed us missing and when he tried to strike Shiro for it, I took the hit instead. I told my father that I'd forced him to come, that I'd wanted to leave and didn't want to be alone so Shiro had accompanied me by my request. And he accepted it as truth, thankfully. The carriage ride back was silent but I could feel Shiro's confused stare all the way back. I'd taken the fall for him when I could have very easily pushed the blame onto him. When we got back to the prison I call a home, Shiro was sent to his cell and accompanied by several guards. The party ended eventually, long after I had returned to my room, and I had hoped that my father would have drunk too much to recall my 'crime'.

I was foolish, hoping. Sitting in silence every time there was so much as a creak from outside my door, but he found me eventually. He came up when every guest was gone and there was nobody to witness his true nature. When there were no guests to enrapture with his money and fame, the monster came creeping out. He was inebriated, more than I had anticipated. I couldn't begin to write out a fraction of the insults he had hurled at me, calling me a half-breed and a mistake as if he wasn't the one to create and raise me, as if it wasn't his wife that had been of Altean blood that he insisted had poisoned me.

Even as I write this, moments after he had left, I still bleed. He struck me a few times, but he must have grown bored of doing so before he punched me, he had grabbed me by my throat and slammed me into the wall. He spat insults, hurled slurs I hadn't heard of before, and tightened his grip on my throat until I couldn't even gasp for air. I must have been close to blacking out when he dropped me to the floor and began to kick me until I was tasting blood. He called me disgusting, a disgrace, told me never to disobey him again and never to take his 'Champion' away from the palace.

He left when he grew bored again, and I waited until I could no longer hear his stomping before I pushed myself up from where I lay. I know that if he had heard me getting up he would have assumed I hadn't been beaten enough and would have ended up doing more damage.

I wanted to write this while it was fresh in my memory. I had begun writing already when he came in, and I am only lucky that I had hidden this book before he saw it. Many memories are hidden in these pages, and he would have burned it without a thought if he'd been sober enough to realise I was writing, or that my hands were covered in graphite.

 

I'll rest now. I will bathe, I'll rest, and in the morning after yet another sleepless night, I will go through the same mundane daily routine until I can visit Shiro again. He is not my father's Champion. He is not my father's possession. He is the man I love, the only I have loved so truly, and the one that I wish to be with. Perhaps I was lucky to see Sendak's true side before I had fallen any further. If I were with him, wrapped around his finger, I wouldn't be able to live so freely with Shiro, nor would I be able to dream of doing so.

One day, Shiro. One day, I will know your name and I will have you out of the hell you live in. Keep holding onto your freedom, for one day I will grant it. Never again will you need to slaughter or dirty your hands.'

The entry ends there. And that was just one of hundreds in this room alone.

Beneath it, a gorgeous painting of that spot by the stream- though the painting was intentionally blotchy and left it as blurry as the memory itself. An in the centre of it was Shiro, who had been painted with his back to the canvas, looking out at the sunset. The light was captured dancing over the waves and casting a golden kind of glow over Shiro's black hair. A small piece of work- the colours dulled with age- that Lotor had put hours of work into just to capture the one memory of seeing Shiro there, bringing beauty to a place Lotor never would have thought to look.

Shiro, who had never really been any good at reading Galran text in the first place, read it all in the English translation, finding his slick smirk and smug features relaxing at every word he let his eyes skimmed. He could hear every word in Lotor's voice -- as though it had been one of those wordy stories or speeches Shiro would allow him to get wrapped up in. It was almost relaxing, Shiro's whole system unwinding as he leaned up against Lotor's side. He found that relaxation a bit disturbed at the mention of Lotor's abuse, of course -- the peace stirring at the accustomed loathing he held in his heart for the vile Zarkon -- but the last two or so paragraphs eased him back into that calmer sort of mindset. When he had been done reading, he let his hand find Lotor's, and intertwined their fingers.

"You... you really loved me, huh?" Shiro asked, turning his face up to look into Lotor's. He tried to keep his voice in that same sort of joking drawl as before, but in all honesty, he found himself in joyful awe at the idea.

He reached for the glasses on his face and then removing them to get a better look at the ex-angel beside him -- not quite caring if anyone would recognize his eyes from those drawings. "That's embarrassing. You had the biggest freaking crush on me..." Shiro trailed off, flicking his eyes back to the journal entries. "I guess I had a stupid big crush on you too... and hell, it was really starting to work out for us, wasn't it? It's sucks that we didn't really get to... you know. Have a happy ending, I guess."

"We can have one," Lotor said, though his eyes were still fixed on that letter pinned to the wall, not diverting his focus to Shiro. The letter was still sinking in. "We can still have a happy ending. Someday, we'll... we'll find something." He still seemed to be processing everything, frowning, his eyes eventually managing to drift back to Shiro. Like he had only just realised properly that he was there. "There must be more. More with less... tragic undertones. Right? Come on, let's find another one. Just one, right?"

He glanced around, skimming over the texts that were presented. Scribbles of his father's abuse, his mother's old teachings or studies, and so, so much about Shiro. Every other thing written was about Shiro. Paragraph after paragraph of Shiro- his smile, his hair, his laugh and how it, albeit rare, was beautiful. Everything.  
"There has to be something that hasn't got something too emotional in it, right? Not declarations of love or retellings of abuse stories. There has to be something- just a good day. A pleasant memory." He turned to look back at Shiro. "It might just be that it's so splotchy now, but I swear that my life wasn't entirely... that."

He decided to ignore the entries about Allura and Sendak, where he described a similar sense of longing or love but one that was lacking, that wasn't quite enough. That wasn't the same as when he was with Shiro. He just chose to ignore it so he wouldn't get caught up on that or have Shiro get jealous.

But there, at the end of the hall, was a printout of a page he knew too well- one that he had documented his scars on. He wasn't sure what had driven him to do it, but he had done it and kept track of it, and then on top of that he'd gone through the effort of labelling each and every scar with it's story.

He stopped dead to look at it, his hand still linked with Shiro's.

"I didn't expect to see that," he said quietly, his eyes still fixed on the photocopied sketch from his book. "I... ancients, I'd hoped not to see it."

Shiro, who had been stuck in his own world of fascination at the amount of Lotor's history surrounding him, furrowed his brow and looked to Lotor. His mind had been clouded with the thoughts of Lotor in his life -- all of the glimpses and the snapshots provided by the rushed glances to his journal entries. It ranged from Lotor's favorite birthday (his tenth, the one his father missed due to a business trip) to his most hallowed secrets and plots for the empire once he managed to take control -- things that likely hadn't seen the gaze of another soul until after Lotor's passing. The information overwhelmed him... but not in a terrible sort of way. To think he had lacked so much knowledge pertaining to his actual soulmate -- he tried hard to memorize each and every detail presented to him before Lotor could pull him away. Of course, most of the information or details about Lotor's past loves -- Sendak especially -- would be purposefully overlooked, but Shiro clung to things like Lotor's favorite tastes and favorite colors like they were his own memories. It was... important. At least he thought so.

"What are you talking about?" Shiro asked, his voice still a bit clouded with that learning daze of his. That divot of confusion still drawn between his eyebrows, Shiro followed Lotor's gaze to the display he had stopped so suddenly for. However, at the sight of the yellowed pages and what had been drawn in that reddish, scratchy charcoal, he found his features falling slack, eyes widening a bit as a new sort of haze thrummed through his system. "Oh..."

His gentle hold against Lotor's hand relaxed, and he started forwards towards it, cocking his head as he studied the old, frayed drawings. There had been four pages of nothing but Lotor... however they were formatted in the style of some sort of body study. Every scar was marked with a deeper shade of red from the terra cotta colored charcoal, each one connected to a thin line and a story behind it. Shiro swallowed hard, trailing his eyes up the drawing, gaze settling on a scar that trailed up from the curve of his collarbone, round his neck, all the way to the bottom on his ear. He found a dull beat of remembrance flush through his system of all the nights spent laying next to him, trailing his finger up the odd scar, wondering if it had been Sendak who had done it to him while he was in Hell. Shiro supposed dismally that it hadn't been him as he turned back to face the paled Lotor, his eyes pinpointed firmly to the raised line of damaged skin tissue that crawled from the collar of his shirt and up his ear.

"We can... skip past this," Shiro assured, walking back to him. "If you want to, I mean. We could go to that first room and look at your cool statue some more. Maybe even read about how Zarkon is a dick head again? That was fun."

But Lotor just stood there and stared at the diagram he had once documented everything on, and it came with the chilling realisation as to where all of the scarred aches of his body came from. The same thrumming ache that just seemed to burst to life along his skin- it matched up with the image in front of him and left it indisputable. His scars had come back, crawling up through his skin and settling on the surface to ruin his afterlife just a little more. But all he could do was stare at the screen with some morbid intrigue.

His eyes drifted from one scar to another, and when he focused he could feel that same scar aching on his body, confirming his suspicions bit by bit. That was about when the large jagged marks over his back, where his wings had once been, between his shoulder blades. He could still recall that story if he tried- but he didn't need to. It was written out underneath his diagram anyway.

 

'Perhaps the worst story I can remember is one from my preteen life. I was still adjusting myself around my father and the Witch at that time, still only a child despite how I tried to prove otherwise. I had gone to speak with my father in his room about my governess, Dayak, who I didn't want to learn from anymore. Her methods were harsh and cruel, and many times was I struck with a cane for the slightest misbehaviour- but that wasn't why I wanted to stop being accompanied by her. I felt as if I was being treated like an infant, like I was incapable, and so I approached my father about it. It was a foolish thing to do in the first place, approaching my father with the temper that I had at that age, but I did it regardless. I thought myself an adult, on the same level as him, and I approached him in the throne room.

I can recall kneeling before him, looking up at my father and talking about why I didn't want a governess any longer. I didn't want anything but to be able to teach myself without the burden of a schedule set by everyone around me. It wasn't until too late that I had realised I must have said something wrong. An argument spiraled after- though I can't remember any details anymore, it must have been blocked from my memory. All I remember was that I insulted him. It slipped past my lips without my thinking and before I'd realised it I'd called him a devil.

I'd expected anger, surely, but the dark laugh that rumbled past his lips is something I can still remember. The dark look in his eyes when he grinned and approached me is permanently scarred into my memory. I can remember clear as day when he rose from his throne and approached me, grabbing ahold of my collar. He had leant down, sneering at me, and spat:

"I may be a devil, boy, but you will never be an angel."

I remember the fear I felt. The first time I had truly aggravated my father that badly- perhaps he had still seen some hope in me being a ruler like him until that day, when he realised that I was nothing but a misled half-breed.

 

My shirt had been torn off and I was kicked to the floor, his foot on my back to keep my chest to the ground as I tried to get up. I recall squirming, thrashing, shouting for help like the guards would do anything for me. I didn't hear my father's talking, I didn't hear him commanding, and I didn't hear his demand for boiling water over my own shouts. The only thing that stole my attention was when I felt the boiling water being poured on me, on my left side first. It was a blinding agony, and I screamed until my throat was raw, scratchy, bleeding. I remember him pouring the second onto my right side, leaving me with burn scars that grown with me. They once took up almost the entire top half of my back, but now- ten years after the incident- they have become faded in most places and are most obvious where displayed on the diagram.

He told me that I would never be an angel, and scarred where my wings would be.   
That day, I learned my place, I learned my duty, and I learned that my father would always control my life until his, or my, dying breath. And that same day, I learned that I would never be enough to appease him.

So that day, I decided never to be like him, never to try to appease him, never to follow my duties or stay in my place. I decided that day that I would fight everything he made me do, he made me become. I decided that I would never be my father's son.'

And oh, how rich it had felt to be in heaven, to know that he had finally proven himself and his place. To know that he had proven his father wrong, that he was an angel all along. But, in the same way, how painfully bitter it had been to fall from grace and to know that his father had been right, that he was never going to be an angel.

"I can still remember that story," he said to Shiro, his eyes finally lifting from the display. "I remember seeing some of the guards- there were a few that I had grown close to in my time in the palace- and pleaded for help. I had looked into their eyes, a child, screaming and begging for help, but they didn't move from their position. My father hadn't even had to speak to them and they knew what to do, where to stand, and to ignore me. To look me dead in the eyes without offering help, without even a shred of sympathy or guilt. Could you imagine that? Could you imagine that one wrong word is all it took to endure that hell? Could you imagine finally beginning to trust two people, for the first time in your life, and taking that long to realise that their duty wasn't to you. That they had no empathy, no sympathy, no guilt, not even a shred of pity for a child?"

He held a little tighter to Shiro, though these traumatic stories had become such old memories that he could recall them without more than a light tremor to his voice.  
"And I was told that I was dramatic when I claimed I was being abused. I got a pat on the head and told to stop making up stories when I told people in the marketplace and asked for help. Zarkon would never. He had loved his wife, you see, and he evidently treated the Witch with some fondness, as if they weren't Altean. If he treated them as equals despite their blood, surely he would do the same to his son. And then my father found out that I'd tried to tell someone, and that's where I got the scar on my neck from."

Shiro watched him a moment or so, his gaze gentle. Saddened. He felt Lotor curl his grip a little tighter round his hand, and squeezed him right back -- even going as far enough to bring Lotor closer to him altogether. He brought his free hand up to cup Lotor's cheek, turning his head away from the display so he could look into Shiro's eyes instead, those aviator sunglasses he had summoned for himself still tucked in the hem of his shirt.

"It's different now, Lotor," Shiro murmured gently, offering a smile from behind his mask. "Now everyone knows -- everyone who has even Googled your freaking name knows. They know what a monster Zarkon was. They know how horribly you were treated. They know how much better you were than him. Your legacy is alive and thriving, man." He gave a sad laugh and looked around the room, eyes sparkling. "You're lucky -- history remembers you. Not as Zarkon's son or Zarkon's heir. Not as a copy of your father. History remembers Lotor... and that's amazing. There are much worse things to be remembered for."

Shiro thought about those last two plaques of Lotor's life story -- the ones detailing his death and most certainly detailing his murderer.

He shook the feeling off quick, hopefully before Lotor could notice it.

"Are you ready to move on to other exhibits now?" Shiro asked, cocking his head. "We could go back from where we came and find some of those cool animal sculptures I was talking about. And then maybe the gift shop."

Lotor looked at Shiro, hesitating for a few moments before he nodded. He had drifted closer to Shiro's side as if the comforting aura had it's own magnetic pull, and was pressed up against Shiro's side before he even knew how close he had gotten. He just pressed against him. He just held him.

"We should find something else to look at," he said, his eyes flicking around the room from one note to another. "I want to see your exhibit. I want to know what was learned about you and what everyone remembered." If history had favoured him so well after seeing the diary exhibits then he couldn't imagine how Shiro had been documented... with everything Lotor had written about him he would be surprised to see anything negative. "We can just go for a few minutes, I don't mind, but... the positive impact I've seemingly had makes me curious to see what they'd done about you."

He turned to look at Shiro, taking a couple of steps closer to him and gripping onto his hand tighter. "The only problem is that I'd need you to accompany me because I can't read the plaques. Unless you kept a diary written in Galran, as I did, I wouldn't be able to know about any of the exhibit." He did want Shiro to come. He wanted to go with Shiro and hear about Shiro's life in the soft voice that Shiro read with, the beautiful way that he spoke.

((??or a trip somewhere that could have been so harrowing, this was going so well- he was torn with not wanting to ruin it and wanting to indulge a little more in his curiosity. But, as it had done in life, his curiosity won.

"Please, Shiro. I can understand if you don't want to, and we don't have to go, but... I want to know what's in there."

Shiro looked at him, his eyes widening a bit with wary. He hesitated a moment or so, once again in dilemma of ditching Lotor for his own self interest or sucking it up and dealing with his fear to settle Lotor's curiosity. There was that pause, but when Shiro found his gaze locked with Lotor's, he seemed to lack the words to properly deny those rounded, hopeful eyes. Shiro gave a low sigh and let his shoulders slump, nodding his head a bit.

"We can go... for a second I guess," he muttered, trying to keep his tone relatively smooth as he took a caring hold of Lotor's arm and started his reluctant way towards the first room.

They passed Lotor's statue and made their way back to the front of the exhibit, the shadowed alcove of section three set in Shiro's reluctant sight. He stopped at the entrance of it, muscles locking with the utmost hesitation. It took a gentle nudge from Lotor to prompt Shiro forwards, but even then his steps were stuttering and draggy as he forced himself into the little room.

It was quieter in there — somber and silent, as were the few humans that made their show way around the plaques. Shiro's grip on Lotor became somewhat viselike at the sight of everything. Every glass display case beneath amber yellow spotlights had been like a swift punch in the stomach. Old knives, blades, shattered remnants of shields and chunks of armor — each one familiar under the years of withering and rusting and corrosion. Shiro was sure he has wielded most of them, and if not them then blades and swords just like those. Pictures and diagrams of the gladiator dungeons moved upon a large screen on the left wall, along with the blueprints of the coliseum. Shiro stopped short again, but that time he seemed rooted in place, eyes wide as they swept along the walls — the walls covered in scattered pieces of pain memories. The main title of the exhibit hung from a sign on the far wall: Zarkon's Gladiators. Beneath that, however, was another title. One that made Shiro's breath stutter in his chest.

The Life of a Champion.

"I don't like this exhibit," Shiro said, his throat dry when he spoke. He looked around a bit more, taking a slow step backwards. He caught pictures of him — drawings from Lotor, models made from a computer. Shiro looked away, not really wanting to read the plaques beside each one. The room was small — small like a cell. It made Shiro's stomach turn. "I... I recognize every single weapon. I've used every one to hurt someone..." Shiro swallowed hard and snapped his eyes closed, shaking his head a little. "All those plaques are probably about me killing people for my own good. Sorry, Lotor, but I don't... I don't think I want to read them."

Lotor stopped. He got the hint, finally, and he realised that this wasn't the same kind of anxiety that he had felt. This was fear- some raw and primal force that stopped him from getting any further, that had rooted Shiro in place, that had suddenly rendered him incapable of speaking.

He took Shiro's hand and gently, gently, pressed a kiss to his knuckle.  
"Then we can go," he said softly. "You can go back. I'm sure... I can find someone to read to me. Don't strain yourself, please." He began to move back, pulling Shiro along with him to ensure that he would get out of the room that suddenly seemed to suffocate him. He hadn't seen Shiro this scared since he'd watched back those memories, seen the look in Shiro's eyes when he'd been bleeding out.

So he brought Shiro out of the room, he directed him to the seat in front of the projector, the one in Lotor's exhibit that had shown illustration after illustration of caring sketches, and he sat Shiro down.

"Stay here," he ordered, his voice firm but cautious and slow, soft-spoken. "Please. Don't follow me. I'll be out soon. Just stay, breathe, and relax. I promise, you don't have to hear a single word about any of that exhibit if you don't want to." He leant in and pressed a short kiss to Shiro's lips. "Okay?"

Shiro blinked, looking up at him. It wasn't until then that he had realized his hands had been shaking -- he brought them down to his chest, anxiously running his thumb over his prosthetic's knuckles, trying to soothe the slight tremble of his muscles. He nodded his head, his throat still dry when he tried to swallow, his skin missing the comfortable warmth of Lotor when the ex-angel pulled away from him. Shiro's voice was rather quiet when he spoke, still tremulous like it had been in the gladiator exhibit.

"Don't be long." He took a deep breath and lowered his head, looking to the floor. "Please."

Lotor smiled a little, leaning in and pressing his lips to Shiro's.

"I won't be," he promised, eyes closing and forehead resting against Shiro's. "I promise you, I won't be long at all."

And he pulled back, brushing his fingers along Shiro's cheek as he turned and began through to the other exhibit. He did manage to find someone- someone who didn't seem busy but was interested, and who was patient enough to read out several plaques to Lotor while the ex-angel listened, eyes round like a puppy, excited to hear about all of this yet still being unable to read even a word of the language he was talking in.

But he was only gone a few minutes- definitely not long enough to go through the entire exhibit, before Shiro had heard footsteps rapidly approaching and Lotor had appeared in front of him, tugging at his hands and wrist and sleeves and trying to heave him to his feet.

"Get up!" he had announced with a grin, looking down at him with shining eyes. "Get up, come on, you have to see this! Trust me- you- you need to see this!"

"Lotor? What... what are you talking about?" Shiro asked dismally, letting Lotor tug at his hands but offering no help in standing himself up. "Did you go to another exhibit-?"

Was there any point in asking or arguing? Was there really any option here? Lotor seemed to excited, grinning, just about jumping up and down in the most giddiness that Shiro had seen in anyone in a while. Lotor hadn't been this happy in a while- perhaps it was something about being outside, free, for the first time in so long or maybe it was something about the exhibit. It was likely a mix of both.

"Trust me," Lotor said again when he'd gotten Shiro to his feet. "Trust me, this- you want to see this."

Shiro watched Lotor warily as he was dragged forwards, his own feet skidding and stumbling a bit as he tried to keep up with Lotor's excited tugging. He debated arguing as Lotor brought him towards that dark alcove again, but he was sure nothing he could say would be able to get past Lotor's excited flare... and it wasn't, even with his uneasiness, as if Shiro wanted to break that excitement anyways. He just ducked his head and averted his eyes to the floor as he was guided by a much more careful hand into that alcove, feeling that eerie sense of somber silence settle over his shoulders again. He tried to keep from feeling so claustrophobic as Lotor coaxed him deeper into the room by that tug of his hand, all the way to the first plaque in a long, stretching series.

Each panel had its own personal display case. The one beside that first plaque Lotor had stopped them in front of had an old, dented looking helmet made from ancient steel, and a crackled longsword, its hilt wrapped in long frayed, torn cloth -- all of the red dye leached from the fabric aside from the occasional spot here and there. Shiro furrowed his brow, lifting his head a little to look at them, a sparkle of remembrance stirring somewhere deep in his system.

"I've seen those before," he muttered absently, shaking his head a little. He looked up at Lotor, who beamed at him with a certain gleaming glint in his eyes that made Shiro nearly want to twitch a smile himself in spite of everything else. He didn't, and instead turned to study the helmet and sword again, cocking his head a little. "I didn't wear that in the ring... but... hell, I know that from somewhere. See the designs on it?" Shiro lifted a finger and pointed, trailing his finger across the glass, following the coiled body of an old, dented dragon, engraved into the metal of the helmet.

"If you don't remember, the plaques are there for you to read. They'll tell you everything that you want to know and more about it," Lotor advised though he could barely keep the excitement out of his voice, grinning as he nudged Shiro and waited for him to go ahead and read it. His urging wasn't subtle- it wasn't going to be subtle- he just wanted Shiro to read all of the information given and find out why Lotor had dragged him back so soon.

Shiro gave him a high-browed sort of stare, before flicking his gaze to that golden plaque beside the display case. Before he read it, however, Shiro brought his eyes up to check the title of that series of plaques, the bold words white and striking against the dark wall.

Life of a Champion -- The Tragic Story Behind Takashi Shirogane.

Chills rose up on his skin, gooseflesh crawling about his arms and the back of his neck. Shiro felt his chest go tight again -- his hand curling into fists to suppress their trembling. He gave Lotor a panicked glance, but when Lotor only responded with a reassuring nod and a nudge towards the plaque, Shiro had no choice but to look back to it -- the words a jumbled mess to his mind for a moment or so before he properly focused. His heart fluttered in his chest as he bleakly cleared his throat, once again finding it dry and scratchy as he prepared himself to read.

"'Out of all of the gladiators you might have read about in the space across the room, Zarkon's prized 'Champion' was and still is the most famous of them all'," Shiro read, his voice a little tighter. There was a gentle touch on his arm, and when Shiro flicked his eyes to the side, he found Lotor's hand trailing down to meet. Reluctantly, Shiro uncurled his fist and opened his hand, allowing Lotor to hold it in his own before turning back and continuing the reading.

"'The Champion was the only gladiator to survive over two years in the Galran gladiator fights, spending nearly seven years fighting for his life under the control of the Galran Empire and its leader, Zarkon. But who was the Galra's prized Champion?" Shiro paused to offer a dismal snicker before shaking his head and starting again. "Because of Prince Lotor's journal entries and the hardworking effort of our archaeologists and historians, we were able to piece together the story of Takashi Shirogane, a young general from an island off the coast of the mainlands who captured in battle at age twenty.. He was said to be a gentle man with a kind, prideful heart. All accounts of Shiro outside that of the Galran documentation prove that he was never... he was never the monster the gladiator pits turned him in to. That Takashi Shirogane and The Champion are not the same..."

Shiro had lost his smile. He flicked his eyes down to the next paragraph and continued, squeezing Lotor's hand a little tighter in his own.

"'According to salvaged letters and documentation, it is known that Takashi Shirogane, nicknamed Shiro, joined his country's military at age fifteen and managed to get a hold of a general position around age nineteen because of his renowned fighting style and strategy. He left his home when he joined the army and wrote to his parents. From those letters we learn that Takashi planned to go home to his parents after an expedition to the mainlands, and that his parents were living off of the money he earned and sent home to them with said letters. In those letters it is also first hinted at in history that Takashi Shirogane had been a gay man, according to his own accounts of 'loving' the occasional man he would meet on his journeys.'"

He blinked a little, and looked up to Lotor. "That's what you were so excited to tell me about?" he asked with a crooked smile, cocking his head to the side. He used the humor to ignore the stinging pain at the mention of his parents. "That I was a player?"

"Keep reading, Shiro," Lotor said and shoved him playfully, grinning up at his boyfriend. And, apparently, ex-fiance. "You know that I wouldn't have called you in here just for that."

Shiro gave a halfhearted chuckle, and turned back around, trailing his eyes down the plaque to try and find his place. He continued reading to Lotor.

"'It was two weeks after Takashi had first turned twenty when he was captured by the Galran Empire. It was a battle at sea -- Takashi and his army were heading to the mainlands to gather supplies. Their ship was nothing against the tactical war boats of the Galra, and, as stated in Galran documentation, Takashi's ship went down in fifteen minutes of battle. Half the crew drowned, the other half were captured and sent straight to the Emperor Zarkon. The POWs of the Galran Empire faced two possible charges, death or gladiator fighting. Because of Takashi's daring attempt at escape (which killed two guards and freed at least two of his own men from capture) Zarkon sent him to the pits to fight, starting seven years of torment and survival. The rest of his crew was killed by hanging.'"

Shiro held onto Lotor's hand a little tighter, taking a step backwards once he was done reading. He looked to the display case again, recognizing the design of the helmet. The cloth on the sword. They were his. His. It was as if saying everything out loud had jumpstarted the memories Allura had only stirred before. Shiro could feel the heavy armor and hear the clinks of its metals. He could hear the laughter of his men all gathered around the campfire on the cool, late nights of travel. He could smell the salty foam of the sea, feel the specks of the cool water on his face whenever the water would get rough. He could remember the sound of wood splintering and groaning as his ship split in two, subjected to the sea and the three foreign ships that had surrounded them.

He gave a shaky breath, blinking a little. The memory and the information flooded him so suddenly. Everything that plaque had said about him in his past life... and so much of it hadn't been anything to do with his murders. Shiro looked down the line of plaques that trailed about the wall, his eyes widening. Were they all about him? How... how could they all be about him?

Without thinking and without prompting from Lotor, Shiro started to the next panel, reading it aloud as soon as he could. It was about his early years as a gladiator. The years Zarkon dedicated to nothing but instilling obedience — years of torture and threats and missing home with all his heart. Shiro didn't have to read it all to remember. He had it all in his mind as crisply and and vividly as a memory from just the other day. Hungry nights alone in his cell, covered in welts from Zarkon's whips and blood from his previous enemy. The only thing Shiro read it for was the way those plaques described him. As a good soul but a lost soul. As a victim, not the monster.

Not the monster.

The next few plaques were about his breaking spirit. His hardening attitude. His forced obedience to the Galran throne. Again, they were nothing but apologetic to him and him alone. "A man forced to keep his heart and his hope in a casing of stone to stay alive." Shiro's hold just tightened against Lotor's hand as he went along, his shaky voice growing more sturdy, his hesitance morphing into conviction twinkling in his eyes.

The feeling stuttered, however, when Shiro reaches the plaques describing his later years.

That was because he gaze landed upon twin display cases, each one long and thinner. In the top case held something that was to be recognized in an instant. As old and as rusted and as rotted as it was, the metal plates and shapes of his old prosthetic were too striking to miss -- too striking to keep from freezing up and falling into a shocked silence. Chunks of it were missing or ripped apart from corrosion, and the arm itself had split into three parts -- not including the shattered finger joints. His curious stupefaction almost caused him to miss the second display case, but his eyes drifted and caught onto the other object nonetheless...

A sword. An old one of course, its state not too different from the look of Shiro's old arm. It looked like all the others had -- all the others hung around the walls and pictured on the screens. A normal old sword, sat delicately in its own special case, tarnished and ugly with time. Shiro's brow furrowed as he looked at it -- studying it for its significance. It only took a moment or so for the connection to click into place.

It was a jarring click to say the least.

Shiro had straighten up, his face losing all of its color, his stomach turning over -- making him feel sick. He took a dazed step backwards, bumping into Lotor who had been looking at the two cases over Shiro's shoulder. There was a moment of silence as Shiro struggled to get his words to work -- his lips moved and his throat bobbed with effort, but nothing seemed to be wanting to leave him. It took a long while, longer than it should have. It even took a gentle touch from Lotor on the shoulder before Shiro managed to get his voice to work. Even when it did, his words were croaky. Shocked.

"That's the sword I killed you with," he said, tone wavering between a whimper and a sick sort of moan. "That's the sword I killed you with... That's the sword I killed myself with. Why would... why would they keep that? Why the hell would they put that up? Fuck..." Shiro's stomach turned again. He reached his hands up to it, fluttering his eyes to a close.

Lotor took ahold of Shiro, wrapping his arms around him before Shiro could spiral much further and holding him close, cradling him to his chest and running his fingers through his hair.  
"Don't panic," he coaxed quietly, cupping his cheek and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "Breathe, Shiro. It's just an object. It's an artefact, a statement of history, and nothing more. It's not important what it did to us. It's only here for the sake of history."

He held Shiro still, running his fingers through Shiro's hair and feeling him tremble, panic, breathing stuttering and body suddenly trembling. He hadn't wanted Shiro to focus on that, the same way that Shiro hadn't wanted him to fixate on the abuse stories that were everywhere in his exhibit. He wanted Shiro to focus on how good he was, how well he was doing, how far he had come and how now everyone knew that he wasn't a monster. That neither of them were monsters. That none of them were made out to be similar to Zarkon in anyway.

"Shiro, look around. This room, everything here, is dedicated to you. Not to the Champion, despite the title name, just to you. Only to you. To Takashi, the man who fought and who loved and who had so much potential and passion that he was never allowed to experience. To you, not to who you hate yourself for having been or for who you never wanted to be.

"That sword hurt us. Once. One time, thousands of years ago, that sword hurt us. But look me in the eyes and tell me- is it anything but that now? A sword? One in a glass cage, no less? One that nobody will touch again, one that people will only ever look at as an object of history, nothing else. That's just a sword. It isn't attached to you, it wasn't cemeneted to your arm. It wasn't part of you." He leant in, pressing a soft kiss to Shiro's lips cautiously and lovingly, slowly, holding Shiro so close he could feel the buzz of Shiro's touch everywhere they made contact. "That is nothing but a sword now. A piece of history. Nothing more."

Shiro gave a shuddering breath, nodding his head and then pressing it against Lotor's chest. His hands curled into the fabric of Lotor's shirt, clinging to it the same way he clung to Lotor's words. "Just a sword," he echoed shakily, holding Lotor as tightly as Lotor held him. "It's just some hunk of old metal. Yeah. That... that makes sense..." he trailed off, leaning up a bit to offer the sword a side glance, recognizing the shape of the hilt and the curve of the blade. Shiro has killed so many others with that sword — it was his most dependent one in the arena. Whenever given the choice, he'd go for that blade.

"Are you guys like... cosplayers or something?"

Both Shiro and Lotor tensed, their gazes meeting and locking before they both turned their head to where that other voice had been coming from. It was a girl— a teenager, maybe fifteen or sixteen. Beside him was another girl, her head cocked and her eyes narrowed. The two girls' arms were linked.

Shiro cleared his throat and flicked his head down, finally feeling the embarrassing burn of tears in his eyes and reaching up rather quickly to wipe them away.

"Uh, no? What the hell is a cosplayer?"

The girl who spoke offered a snort of a laugh. "Dude, it's fine. No ones judging — just wondering," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "My girlfriends a big history buff, too. If you guys are cosplayers, she kinda wants to take a picture."

"It's not really a big deal," the other girl said, blushing. "Only if you guys want to."

Shiro's panic had lessened, overpowered by the irony of the situation. He looked up to Lotor with a quizzical sort of expression, his eyes narrowed. He might have even twitched the slightest little smile beneath that mask of his.

"What do you say? Wanna take a picture with them?"

"I'd love to," Lotor said with a smile, squeezing Shiro's hand. He didn't know how those little boxes worked, but from the photos that Lance always took he knew that they worked and he knew that it would only take them a moment or so. He had asked quite a lot of questions about how camera worked when he was with Lance, and when Lance had gotten sick of being interrogated he'd set up the wikipedia page on his laptop and let Lotor stay up all night reading about it, learning about the new technology he'd missed, delving into deep and hidden corners and crevices of wikipedia just to learn and learn and learn. He didn't know why it hadn't even crossed his mind to google himself? Possibly because vanity was a sin back then so he had no curiosity about himself. Now, however...

"Don't you think, Shiro? It'll only take a moment. We don't get often get recognised when we go out." He couldn't hide the smile on his lips at this, his voice only playful. He never meant any harm- he was just finding it amusing that they were mistaken for people who just loved history so much that they went to a museum about the Galra Empire dressed as two of the main Galran historical figures. "Do people often dress up as us? Them, I mean."

Shiro gave him a snort, looking Lotor up and down for the little slip up. He stayed quiet however, holding the jokes of his clumsiness for later when the girls were out of earshot.

"I mean, not really — but there's some talk about them getting a movie soon," the second girl said, her eyes sparkling a bit. As she spoke, her girlfriend set up the camera on her phone. "Like, a historical movie based off of true events, obviously. I really hope they go through with it. Lotor and Takashi have always been a real inspiration to me I guess — which is kinda nerdy, sure, but whatever." She crossed her arms over her chest, blushing again. "I just think it would be cool for younger gay or bi kids to see them on the big screen. Imagine seeing a gay man as strong and as persevering as Shiro? He'd be like a hero to them."

There was a moment of hesitant silence, but it had been interrupted by the smallest little sniff. Shiro reached up a hand to wipe at his welling eyes again, brushing away at his tears before they could fall. He felt Lotor's hand settle on his shoulder, and he sniffled again, eyes shut tight behind his hands.

"Did you hear that Lotor?" he asked, forgetting about the girls. There was a hiccup of a happy sob caught in his throat, but he forced it back. "She said I'm gonna be a hero... God... that's so nice..."

Lotor glanced at Shiro, then to the girls- who seemed a little anxious that they'd said the wrong thing- and offered a patient smile as he wrapped his arms around Shiro.  
"What's gotten you all emotional so suddenly?" he asked, laughing softly as he leant in and pressed their lips together. "Isn't there enough evidence here that you're already a hero? You don't need someone telling you that just to prove it. You've always been a hero."

He held Shiro to his chest, running his fingers through his hair.  
"Come on, they asked for a photo," he said quietly, as if trying to get Shiro to recollect himself just for a few minutes so that they could get the photo done. Just a nice thing to do- a nice way to be remembered without the girls knowing actually who they were. 'Cosplayers', whatever that meant. He pulled back, kissing Shiro's lips behind the mask softly- deciding to ignore the soft sound of a camera shutter and the immediate 'Oh, shit' that came out of one of the girl's mouths when she realised that the sound was still on.

He wiped away a tear of two of Shiro's when he pulled back. When he spoke again, he did so in a whisper, trying to be so quiet that the girls wouldn't hear him calling Shiro by his name, proper name. It was an intimate thing between them- even if everyone knew his name, Lotor had earned his right to know. They hadn't.  
"Hold it together, Takashi. Just for a few moments."

Shiro nodded, squeezing his eyes tight and clearing his throat. He took a moment or so to ground himself, trying not to feel the harsh flush of embarrassment at the idea he'd broken down so easily. Perhaps the exhibit itself had made him a bit too fragile — the simplest mention of him being a hero just managed to break past that thin coating of protection he had nestled himself beneath. After the moment of building it back up, however, Shiro fluttered open his eyes, and shook his head a little.

"Right, right," Shiro said, voice a little gruffer. "Sorry — I'm alright. I'm okay. Let's just take that picture."

The first girl gave an awkward sort of laugh, drawing Shiro's attention. She wore a skeptical sort of expression, looking Shiro up and down like he'd been crazy. Her girlfriend, however, stared at Shiro with a thoughtful sort of furrow of her brow, eyes curious.

"You guys are... really into your cosplays, huh?" the first girl asked.

Shiro offered a shrug. "I still have no idea what that means," he said, reaching up to tug his mask off. He bunched the mask down at the base of his throat, exposing his face and features without properly thinking about it.

The second girl's eyes widened at the sight of Shiro's face, eyes flicking to one of the many drawings scattered about the walls and then back. She opened her mouth, and Shiro could already hear the question rolling from her lips so he stopped her, raising up his finger to his lips. When she snapped her lips shut, eyes wide —confused, but knowing — Shiro offered a wink.

After that, the girls moved towards them and took a quick little selfie. That second girl gave them both an enthusiastic handshake, and the pair left, one murmuring about how weird 'those guys' had been, and the other in a thoughtful silence, staring hard at her girlfriend's phone -- likely studying the picture they had taken. Shiro watched them go, a little smile quirking the corners of his finally exposed lips as he turned to face Lotor.

"We're totally seeing that fuckin' movie man," he said, nodding his head. "That's like, one-hundred percent happening. Even if I cry like a baby through the whole thing."

"We'll definitely go to see it," Lotor promised Shiro with a smile, kissing his knuckles. "Do you want to go home now, though? You've already started crying once." With a soft laugh, Lotor turned back to look at the area around them, studying it and checking for anything that might have caught his attention or motivated him to stay a little longer. He was a little on edge by now, too- not only because he had been recognised to some extent, but because Shiro seemed to be getting emotional. Lotor had quite a lot to say about the unfairness of having his diary put up on display, too.

"To be fair, I only cried because I was doing a great job at hiding all of the other twelve times I wanted to cry before," he said, offering a snicker in spite of exactly what he had just said.

"You're more of a disaster than you let on, did you know that?" Lotor held tighter to Shiro's hand, and moved over to admire a few more artefacts in the room about Shiro's life, this section focusing quite heavily on the early stages of him becoming the Champion- which Lotor only knew because he could recognise the charm that sat on it's own shelf as something that had been taken from Shiro when he arrived. It was only about the size of the nail on his thumb and it wasn't anything dangerous, so he hadn't known why it was taken, so about two weeks into talking to Shiro he had found and returned it.

 

"What's this one?" he asked, answering his own question about whether or not they'd stay by starting to talk about something else. "I remember you having this but... what is it?"

There was a pause as Shiro turned his attention to the display case, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed as he leaned in close to study the little charm. It was an old, tarnished sliver of silver, it's old body just barely shimmering through the layers of age and rust and tarnish. Shiro felt that tingling sparkle of remembrance somewhere in his chest, but his mind was slower -- it didn't catch on as quickly. The fog from all those years in Hell alongside Allura's neglect to revive his older memories made it hard for the spark to catch in his brain. He had to think hard, an absent hand slowly rising out of instinct to search his chest for the charm he used to wear oh so long ago.

"It's my family pendant," Shiro said very slowly, cocking his head as the memories began to stir beneath all of that mist. "I think it was my father's. Under all of that tarnish... I think it says my name. Shirogane."

It was then that everything seemed to come back to him. He could feel the smooth silver between his fingertips, held between the side of his index and his thumb in times of thought or even the slightest cases of worry. Back in his home village when he would get scared. Back when he was a general, planning out battle tactics or preparing for a fight with his troops. The last time he had ever held the pendant in such a way was when the lookout on their ship informed him of three heavyweight battleships coming in steady from the horizon. The idea of it all made Shiro's head spin a little, eyes widening as his focus transfixed on the old piece of silver in that display case before him.

He didn't even have a chance to think what he did next over -- Shiro's hand simply sank down from his neck, and held itself outwards, his fingers open and his palm facing the ceiling. All he had to do was close his eyes and focus... and then a delicate weight was set upon his palm. Shiro ignored Lotor's quiet gasp, fluttering open his eyes and looking down at the necklace in his hand. The silver looked so brittle it could snap at the slightest of pressure. The chord it had been fastened to was newer, likely provided by the museum. All Shiro had to fix was the silver... if he could...

It was worth a try.

Shiro closed his eyes again, and trained all his mind power on the presence n his hand. He thought about what it had been like to transfer that dark magic to Lotor all those weeks ago -- forcing all of that simmering power to his fingertips and then pushing it past his skin and into Lotor's. He supposed it couldn't have been so different... so Shiro tried it. Gathering together a fair amount of his clean, icy energy, and directing it towards the palm of his hand. It was easier than before, the magic moved like water from a stream, pouring from his skin and into the piece of precious metal that rested in his palm. He stopped just before he could get lightheaded, and, with a sparkle of hope, Shiro opened up his eyes and peeked at the pendant in his hands.

Brand new. Polished and fresh. Sparkling like mad beneath the amber lights of the room. Shiro's family name, carved in his old language, was accented with thin lines of black paint. The edges of the pendant were sharper and cleaner. The string, even, seemed to shed itself of the dust it had collected beneath that display case. It was as if no other person had even breathed on the necklace in his hand, let alone touch it.

Satisfied, Shiro pinched the pendant between his fingers like he used to do, savoring the feeling of it as he brought the charm to his chest. He looked up to Lotor, noting the high brow and the skeptical eyes, and cocked his head.

"What? It's mine," Shiro said, laughing a little. "Hell, half the stuff in this room is mine. If you want we can come back after closing and steal all your diary pages back, too."

Lotor still didn't lose that cocked brow for a few moments, a way of covering up that he was considering it- but decided that they, as well as the sword, were a part of history now and that there was no point in taking something away from history anymore. Not when it would already have been documented and could probably be found online, too. His diary was everywhere and likely read by everyone and all he had to do was accept it.

"I'll let it slide," Lotor said as he took Shiro's hand again, the one without the pendant, and moved a little closer. "But we should leave before they realise it's missing and start asking why the Shiro lookalike stole a necklace." He glanced to the door, to the room with his diary sprawled out, and then began to scan the room they were currently in to see if there was another way out. He didn't want to go venturing back through that room in case Shiro read anything any more embarrassing than he'd already heard about.

"You might have to teleport us back," he said to Shiro, lacing their fingers together to tighten their hold on each other. "You can teleport us whenever you're ready. I don't want to walk back through anything that could be traumatic."

Shiro smirked at him, pulling the pendant's string over his head and letting it lay on his chest. He held up his finger, and then laid his hand out flat again, ignoring the exasperated groan from Lotor and focusing on something else that he knew he had to steal back. The two little presences appeared in his hands, and Shiro fixed them as he had fixed his own necklace without even pausing to look at them. Once they were fixed however, Shiro opened up his eyes and turned to offer Lotor a priceless sort of smile, presenting the two rings that sat in his palm.

"First, take this back, alright? I won't steal anything else, I promise. But... we deserve these, yeah?"

Lotor's eyes scanned Shiro's features before they landed back on the two stolen rings and he sighed, nodding.  
"We earned them," he agreed after a few moments of hesitation, smiling a little up at Shiro. "But nothing else, okay? And we're going to go home now so that we aren't caught. Final warning or I'll go home alone and report you for theft." His tone was only teasing, though, and it was clear that he didn't mean his little threat.

He moved one hand to brush along the pattern of Shiro's pendant, taking a few moments to admire it. Imagining, just for a moment, how much Shiro's parents must have loved him to present him with a treasured heirloom. But then the thought grew painful as he was reminded of his own family and he instead focused on the home that was waiting for him.  
"Let's go," he said, his voice a little more firm than he'd meant it to be. "There's something that I want to talk to you about, but I want it to wait until we're at home."

Shiro smiled, closing his fist around the rings and then pocketing them as he nodded. He took ahold of Lotor's hand, looked about the room to make sure no one could be watching, and then promptly teleported them back to the warehouse.

The moment his feet hit the cement and Atlas came bounding up to greet them, Shiro figured going to the museum wasn't that bad of an idea after all.


	31. Our Eden

"Nope. No. I don't like it -- not one bit."

Shiro's words were sharp and punchy, his tone stubborn and unyielding. He had turned his head away from Lotor before him, who, nearly fifteen minutes after their trip to the museum, proposed one of the worst ideas Shiro had ever encountered in his very, very long life. His arms were crossed over his chest, his shoulders drawn up and his posture stiff, eyes narrowed and lips curled into an unnerved scowl.

"Lotor, that's... fuck, Lotor that's suicide!" he said bitterly, shaking his head. "I just got you out of Hell. I just got all my memories back. I just... I just got us back, man. Going to face Zarkon head on would be throwing that all away. There's no way I'm going to let you do that, Nuh-uh."

"I'm not asking for permission, Shiro, I'm telling you that this is what I'm doing." Lotor kept his eyes fixed on Shiro. He knew how badly this could end- he'd experienced the worst outcome once before. "There's nothing that I could be overlooking. I'm going to find him in hell and I'm going to kill him. I'll have my knives and sword made of silver if I must, I'll carry holy water, I'll douse the damn knives in holy water. You can't talk me out of this."

 

He stood his ground, eyes fixed on Shiro- who was looking at him like he couldn't have done anything more stupid. Not quite like he was an idiot, just as if he was doing something foolish or didn't entirely understand the gravity of his words.

"I've made up my mind," Lotor insisted again, just in case it wasn't enough the first time. "I failed to kill him once. That's why I'm going to kill him this time."

Shiro shook his head, unfolding his arms so he could hold his hands at his sides and curl them into fists. "Lotor, there's one hell of a factor you're overlooking," Shiro said, squeezing his fists tight and focusing on the pinch of his palm to keep his tone from getting too snappy. "Don't you know what happens when you kill a demon? A demon with a status as high as Zarkon's? If you take Zarkon's life, you take his place in Hell's hierarchy. You saw it with Sendak -- that's why my horns are so Goddamn big. Do you really want to be the king of Hell, Lotor? You'd never get to leave. You'd be... you'd be stuck down there..."

He trailed off, voice going quiet. Shiro didn't add the next part that rested on his tongue. The dismal 'and I don't want to be stuck in Hell with you.' As much as it pained him to think such a thing, he couldn't quite deny it was true. He couldn't deny how much he loathed the idea of hell altogether, especially with his new blood and new soul. Of course, he would follow Lotor anywhere. He would stay with Lotor anywhere. But that didn't mean he couldn't hate it just a little bit.

"And that's just if you manage to kill the bastard," Shiro said, starting up again to derail his thoughts. "He's surrounded by demons. He's the strongest demon down there if you don't count Lucifer, but that asshole is in the Cage for all eternity... and shit, Lucifer's not even a real demon so he doesn't even count." He shook his head a little, backtracking. "But still, going after Zarkon is a bad plan. Especially if you have some demon instinct in you. He's your superior -- you'd have to fight through the instinct to just submit to him. It's like what I had to do with Sendak but... worse."

"I'm not a demon," Lotor pointed out. "Therefore he has no power over me. The same way that Sendak didn't. He was surrounded by guards when I attacked him, technically the king of the Galra Empire, and I was willing to accept that title when I earned it. I know the risks, Shiro. I know how scary this must be for you. I'm scared, too, but I deserve to kill him. I will take the consequences of doing so if I can feel his blood on my hands. You don't have to come with me. You can stay here, stay with the humans to stay away from the demons. You can visit on occasion. I don't mind if you don't follow me to the ends of the earth, to the destruction of Hell, but I'm going through with this."

He took a few steps toward Shiro, tenderly cupping his cheeks with those ugly talons. It had been too exhausting to keep human hands for much longer once they were out of the museum, so he'd been forced to revert them.   
"You can be scared," he said to him, voice softer now. More cautious. More loving. "You can hate this plan, you can say 'I told you so' if it ends badly. I don't care. But after everything he did to me, everything he did to you, my father deserves to die again. He deserves to die how Sendak did. He deserves to face whatever comes next." Lotor leant down, resting his forehead against Shiro's in a gesture that he hoped would calm him down. "I want to do this. I've never wanted to do anything more. Even when I was alive my goal was just to kill my father. Don't I finally deserve to do that? Don't I at least deserve to try?"

He held Shiro like that for a few moments, holding his face and running a talon along his cheek, eyes closed as if he was hoping to hear what Shiro was thinking about this. He wanted to be with him in Hell. If they couldn't be together in Heaven, he wanted to rule Hell with Shiro by his side. He would settle for a peaceful life on earth, but he couldn't do that if it meant leaving his father alive. He and Shiro had different goals, they had different wants. Even with Lotor's current... plans for the afterlife altogether, even if Hell as Shiro knew it wouldn't be anything like it was now in only a few weeks, provided all went to plan, Lotor wasn't going to force him to live a life he didn't want to live.

But in the same manner, he wasn't going to live like that either. There were two options here: find a middle ground or go their separate ways.

Shiro leaned into Lotor's hand when he had cupped his cheek, as he always did. He leaned into Lotor's forehead and let his posture relax, just listening to Lotor speak, feeling that talon grace against his skin and tickle his cheek. His own opinion sat stubbornly in his chest and in his head, but Shiro kept quiet and let Lotor speak, his stomach turning at the slight mention of Lotor going without him, even if the previous idea of Lotor going with him made his chest tight. He was at a dilemma when the conversation was turned towards him, half terrified at the idea of going to Hell, the other half terrified of losing Lotor to Hell.

"You deserve it," Shiro murmured, his throat dry. "But... but Lotor I just got you back. I got my soulmate back. What if... what if it goes wrong and you... fuck. You know what I'm trying to say."

He reached his hand up to grab at his charm, already putting it back in good use as he rubbed the silver between his fingers. "Lotor, I will follow you anywhere. You know that," he said, swallowing hard to try and fill his voice a bit more -- trying to keep it from being so soft. So fragile. "If you want to... If you need to kill your father, I won't stop you. I'll come with you... even if I planned on never going down there again. But I need you to promise me -- to swear to me -- that you won't die. You can't die. I wouldn't know what to do with myself without you.

Shiro leaned back, looking up into Lotor's eyes, his own stare hard and serious. Nearly intense.

"Do it. Swear it to me you won't die and I won't argue. And I'll... I'll come with you and I'll fight with you. Even if Zarkon's power still affects me. Even if the idea of you ruling Hell for the rest of eternity terrifies me. Even if I would never be able to come back to the surface again. Swear it to me and I'll follow you to the ends of this universe."

Lotor smiled a little, cupping Shiro's cheeks, looking down and into his eyes.  
"I swear to you, Takashi, that I won't die. I will live for you, and we will rule together until the end of time. I swear to you, Takashi, that I won't die." He pressed a soft kiss to Shiro's lips, breaking away to take Shiro's hands in his own. "I will fight my father, slaughter him, and I will be victorious. But, in the same manner, you have to promise me that you won't die. I won't win if you aren't by my side at the end of the battle."

He kept his eyes fixed on Shiro's, running his thumb along Shiro's knuckles, slowly realising bit by bit exactly what it was about Shiro that made him fall in love. It wasn't his attractive features, or the way those grey eyes stared up at him, the flecks of silver and gold shining in the dull light of their warehouse. It wasn't the way that Shiro depended on him, or the way shiro fought and fought, exhibiting all kinds of perseverance, even though that was a contributing factor. It was the way they seemed to work together. It was the way Shiro seemed to satisfy every craving of everything Lotor had wanted since he was a child. It was the fact that Shiro understood him, his wants, his needs, and still loved and accepted him. It was the way Shiro wasn't afraid to touch him, to be touched by him. It was the way Shiro knew his past, his family, and the true ruthlessness of both parts but didn't hold it against him. To Shiro, he was just Lotor. He wasn't a mix of his past and his family, he wasn't some creation spawned from evil, made to be evil.

It was the way that Shiro understood him and everything that he was, that he could be, and that he had come from.

"I love you." The words just came so naturally now- forbidden words that he didn't think he'd said since he'd met Shiro when they were in the dungeons after fights. Words that he'd only said to Allura once, that he'd never even considered saying to Sendak. Three words that meant everything now, that he didn't know if he'd live without being able to say them to Shiro. Love was such a familiar thing to him now. Yet, still, even the concept of love was too much for his father, and if Lotor had even considered love as a real thing, as something he could experience, he would have earned a beating. It almost made him wonder if love was what had made his father such a monster.

Almost.

"Promise me that you won't die. I love you, Shiro, and I want you to win with you."

Shiro looked at him, managing a smile.

"I promise," he said, forcing himself to believe it as well. "I will not die. I love you too, Lotor... thank you."

He brought his hand down to his pocket, reaching into it and scooping up those rings into his palm. Shiro held them out, flicking his gaze down to them -- studying them a moment or so, the gemstones and the craftsmanship -- before looking back up to Lotor.

"Do you want yours?" Shiro asked, voice soft. "I... I think I'm going to put mine on. If that's okay with you."

Lotor smiled, snatching both of them from Shiro's hand and settling Shiro's one in the palm of his hand.  
"I do want to wear them," he said before Shiro could get the wrong idea, before getting down on one knee and taking ahold of Shiro's hand. "But I want to renew the promise we made so long ago. Takashi Shirogane, I love you. I love you now, I will love you always, but I don't want to marry you until my father is dead and we know that it's safe. Will you agree to marry me when all of this is over?"

He held the ring in his hand, keeping his eyes fixed on Shiro, smiling as he waited for the inevitable yes.

Shiro gave a soft laugh, looking down at Lotor before him. It was just as joy inducing as the first time around, gazing down at Lotor's hopeful, smiling features, that ring twinkling in the light of the warehouse. He brought his hand to his mouth, and gave a melodramatic sort of gasp, a teasing grin curled up high upon his cheeks.

"Oh Lotor," he said with a dramatic flare, bringing the back of his hand to his forehead and then tipping his head back, eyes shut in a dreamy sort of close. "You've made me the happiest man. For the second time."

With another giggle, Shiro dropped the Shakespearean act, straightening up and looking down at Lotor, kneeled at his feet. "Of course I'd marry you, silly," he said, holding out his hand -- his ring finger rather obviously presented for Lotor before him. "I could say yes again and again and again -- until all eternity runs out, Lotor."'

Lotor smiled, sliding the ring onto Shiro's finger and then getting back to his feet to slide his own ring on, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Shiro's lips as if that would seal the agreement. He closed his eyes, holding Shiro close, relaxing against him.

"I love you," he murmured. "And I will always love you. Now come, we have plans to make- I won't be able to pull this off flawlessly alone. I'll need a little help to ensure that this happens without issue. And if I know my father, if he hasn't changed, this will be easy to plan for."

He settled back on the bed, hearing a soft 'bwurr' from beside him at Feather's was woken up, scooping her into his arms despite her tired meow of protest and clicking his tongue for Atlas to come bounding onto the bed.

Shiro plopped down beside him, easing up by his side and slumping, his cheek resting on Lotor's shoulder as he brought their hands together, sighing gently as he settled his eyes closed.

"Planning..." he hummed, furrowing his brow a little. His voice was sleepy, his system drained after their day out. "Planning, planning, planning... I know how to do that..."

He took a moment or so to think about this, his thoughts a little sluggish as he put them together. "Well, there's definitely some things we might have to think about," he said, fluttering open his lids and looking up to Lotor. "First of all: do I have some kind of angel blood, and are all the demons going to go batshit crazy when they see me? Second of all, if I'm going to fight, I need a new sword. Sendak broke mine, that son of a bitch. Third of all, if for some reason I still have my demon instincts, I don't know if I'll be able to fight Zarkon with you. Which means... you might have to fight him alone -- but I'm not worried about that because you swore you wouldn't die so it's going to be fine." Despite his confident words, his tone had grown wary at the idea. "There's also the question of when we're going to do it, and how. Surprise attack, of course, but Zarkon will smell us from a mile away. We'd have to teleport into the thick of it all... I say best course of action is you go for your father, I keep the other demons off your back? I think that's the most solid tactic we can rely on at the moment."

Shiro offered a long yawn, and closed his eyes again, nestling closer to Lotor. "I mean, I was a super important general and all. I know tactics, I guess..."

"Of course, of course," Lotor agreed with a little smile, leaning over and pressing a few kisses along Shiro's jaw. "The best at making plans, that sounds like a good idea. I think the best thing to do would be to ensure that I have more than enough room to manoeuvre freely, so you'll need to keep a lot of demons far away from me. Do you think that you could manage that?"

He held tightly to Shiro's hand, looking up at him. A lot of his plan would rest on Shiro's shoulders- if Shiro didn't manage to keep the demons away from him, he could meet a grizzly end. If all of the demons overpowered Shiro, Lotor would die. There was so much of this that leant on Shiro- not to mention that Lotor had to kill his father or his father would kill him, then either kill or torture Shiro. If Shiro lost, Lotor would die indefinitely. If Lotor lost, Shiro would die or face a fate worse than death. There really wasn't much of an option here. They either won or they died.

Shiro opened his eyes up to look at Lotor, a gentle smile curling his lips.

"I took all those exorcists on all by myself. Demons can't be too much harder," he said, shrugging. "I'll get a few fleshwounds, maybe a scar or two -- but I can manage keeping them distracted. Especially if I've got hybrid blood. They won't be able to get off of me. Hope that doesn't make you jealous, sweetheart."

He earned a little shove for the comment, but Shiro laughed nonetheless, settling back into his place beside Lotor as he giggled. "Anyways, about the whole sword problem, do you know any place I could get a new one? I fought with the one Sendak broke for millennia... just some standard blade won't make the cut when trying to overthrow Hell's hierarchy."

"I would have suggested Allura," Lotor said with a sigh. "But she won't admit us into her temple again for a while after that. I think that there's another middle ground somewhere closer to the heavens that we could enter if we tried- the Guardian's have their weapons made somewhere, and if we could get ahold of one of those each, it would be far more useful than any kind of blade you have. I still have the scar from where the hilt of the blade was pressed into me- and if that's what it did when I had minimal demon's blood in me, you can imagine what it would have done if I'd been a full demon. And... we'd need to get gloves or gauntlets, too, so that we don't hurt by accident... hm..."

He trailed off, brows furrowing, eyes fixing on the floor as confusion crossed his features. He just needed to work out the details on how to get the weapons and then it would be no hassle at all to get them, but that was exactly why they'd been so difficult to locate. If everyone knew where these weapons were forged, it would be so easy to get ahold of one.

"We can figure it out later," Lotor said to Shiro, to ease his mind a little. "It's nothing so desperately urgent that it must be dealt with now. We ought to rest after our day out. We should probably cleanse ourselves of the human scent, too."

There was a soft pause as Shiro thought about Lotor's final mutter, his brow furrowing before he, once again, fluttered open his eyes and flicked them up to Lotor. A smug sort of smirk curled at the corners of his lips, his eyes narrowing in a playful sort of manner as he pushed up a bit from the bed.

"I know a way to rest and to wash off the human scent," he declared, his tone anything if it wasn't self satisfied and proud. When his words were met with an almost concerned rise of Lotor's brow, Shiro's smirk widened, and he shifted a bit, sitting up straight. "I know a place to go -- won't take much strength teleporting there. It's just far back in the forest." Shiro turned his head to look out the window. He pointed at it, and turned back to Lotor. "And now is the perfect time to go -- nice and dark and quiet. Trust me, it'll be great."

He pushed up onto his knees, and held his hand out for Lotor to take, his eyes bright and just barely mischievous.

"C'mon, you trust me, don't you?"

"Yes, without a doubt, but that doesn't make this less suspicious," Lotor said, giving Shiro a look with a cocked brow. He could see through the sweet tones of Shiro's voice, but he did trust Shiro and he was beginning to grow curious about this promised bathing spot.

 

So he sighed, and he took Shiro's hand, looking down at the ex-demon on his knees. "I accept," he said, a little smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Take me to this secret place, Shiro."

Atlas whined loudly, nudging Shiro with her muzzle, trying to get his attention as she whined louder, wanting to go too, evidently knowing where they were talking about. Lotor laughed a little and moved his free pant to pet the top of her head and scratch behind her ear.

"No harm in a little more company, is there?"

Shiro looked at her, offering up a dramatic sort of pout even if the smile still shined behind his eyes.

"She might ruin the mood," he sighed, shrugging up his shoulders. "But alright."

One of his hands intertwined with Lotor's, the other settled on Atlas's head, Shiro then settled his eyes to a close, features relaxing a little as he concentrated. A specific scene painted itself in his mind — a scene lit by white moon beams cutting through dark, waving leaves. A backdrop of gently running water, and the sound of wind skimming across the surface of a still pond. The smell of water and honeysuckles and wildflowers — all sweet and fresh and lively. Shiro imagined that scene, focused his magic, and then he was in that scene. He fluttered open his eyes at the feeling of wind brushing against his face, wisping his hair across his forehead.

Shiro had teleported them to small spot in the forest, a mile or so deep in the trees. It was a natural alcove made from stone and rock, multiple pools of shimmering water carved in from years of erosion, fed by the streams and running rainwater. It was clean — Shiro was sure of that. It was a natural well of sorts, clean enough to drink from. Certainly clean enough to bathe in.

He took his hand from the curious hound's head and the other from Lotor, and held them out flat, palms facing the dark forest canopy.

"Care for a bath?" he asked, tone smug. "Best spot in all of the forest. I come here when I really want to treat myself. There's a big pool, and then two little ones. Your pick — Atlas will not be bathing in our pool"

There was a low whine from Atlas at that. Shiro turned to her and frowned. "Oh, don't give me that. I let you come along. Isn't that enough?"

Lotor laughed a little, turning his attention to the big pool.  
"That one," he said with a smile, approaching the waters. He began to unbutton his shirt, but the dull ache of his scars reminded him not to- that he was still ugly, broken, and that he would never truly be able to distance himself from his past- and he buttoned it up again. Instead of getting into the water fully, he stepped onto a rock under the alcove, avoiding the waterfall and stepping out again to settle on the next rock along. There he sat, on the flattened top of a rock covered with moss. He had his back to Shiro when he rolled up his pant legs just enough to let his legs relax in the water without soaking his clothes.

He turned his attention to Shiro, who was still talking to Atlas under his breath as she whined and glanced over to the pool, clearly wanting to join them. A small, fond smile curled onto Lotor's lips as she skulked away to another pool, tail between her legs- when it wasn't wagging back and forth, evidently trying to guilt Shiro but being so happy that she was in a new place to explore that she couldn't quite manage to seem upset.

And now that Lotor had Shiro's attention, he waved him over.  
"Come on in!" he called, grinning. "It's nice in here."

Shiro turned away from Atlas, distracted at the sight of Lotor sitting on that rock. An endearing sort of smile broke out across his face, his previous furrowed brow and pursed, chastising lips fading away into a bright sort of look. He turned around and patted up his dress jacket for its buttons, slipping it off and draping it across a dry boulder before returning to unbutton his white undershirt. Shiro pulled it from his shoulders, exposing older, faded scars that no longer laced with the pain of Hell -- scars he was used to baring. Scars that had dulled into nothing but white stretches of damaged skin tissue since his soul had been cleansed.

Once Shiro had stripped himself of everything but his boxers, his clothes draped across thay stone, he moved towards the edge of the pool, smirking at Lotor.

"What? You aren't swimming?" he asked, dipping his foot into the water to test the temperature. It was just barely above chilly, the simple touch of the water against his bare skin inspiring goosebumps to crawl up his leg. Shiro got over it, and took the full step, stepping into the pool until the water met his chest. "Water feels fine -- just go ahead and jump in. You get used to it fast."

With that, took a deep breath, held it with a childish puff of his cheeks, and dropped beneath the surface of the water. He spent a second or so beneath the water before hopping back out, his bangs matted to his face, water making his skin shine in the moonlight. He whipped his head back and forth like a dog, laughing a little.

"Feels kinda nice, actually," Shiro hummed, sinking down so the water lapped at his neck. "It's only cold at first."

Lotor smiled a little, stretching his hand to start running his fingers through Shiro's hair, pushing his white tuft from his forehead and slicking back his hair with the pool water.  
"I'd rather sit here," he said, smiling fondly as he coaxed his fingers through Shiro's hair, learning in and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Besides, I'm enjoying the view a lot."

White that was more of a half-truth than a lie, Lotor had to admit that he even felt uncomfortable pulling his pant legs up. He knew that he still had the scars he'd had in life- ones that weren't there when he and Shiro had had sex- new ones. Old, so old, but newly appearing like fresh blemishes on his skin, aching and humming like they were taunting him for being too scared to show them. Humiliating him even when they were covered up. Even when they had no power.

 

Part of him trusted that Shiro wouldn't comment on or care about the scars, part of him even knowing that Shiro would kiss all of them if he could ease the childish kind of self-consciousness Lotor felt, but another part of him seemed to insist that Shiro would find him ugly, that nobody would find him uglier, and that Shiro would turn his back on him. It was irrational, he knew that, but even as logic coaxed him he still couldn't bring himself to get over that thrumming panic.

"In fact, just being here is cleansing enough. It's something about the air- it's an angel thing, I'm not sure if you can feel it too, but I'll be clean by the time we leave whether or not I get into the bath."

Shiro offered a slight frown, confused. He didn't say anything however, figuring Lotor didn't want to be pushed, so he just waded forwards and leaned against the rock Lotor day upon, just beside his legs.

"Then I guess I'll have to settle for kissing you here," he sighed, bringing his lips to Lotor's leg — kissing his shin with the gentlest little peck. He moved up Lotor's leg with his lips until he met the fabric of Lotor's rolled up pant leg. Then, Shiro simply settled for leaning his head against Lotor's knee, eyes settled into a contented close.

He gave a smirk, though. "That was a sneak peek for how much I'm going to kiss you when we get home," he said in a purring sort of promise.

Before Lotor could answer, Shiro gave him one last kiss to his covered knee, and then pushed away from the rock with his legs, the water sloshing around him as he waded back towards the center of the pool. It was deep enough there for Shiro to properly tread — though if wanted to stand, he probably could have. Right on his tiptoes, of course, but enough to keep his whole head out of the water.

"I haven't been swimming in a while," Shiro admitted. "I come to the pools here, but I never swim. Let me tell you, the tail certainly changes things." Each time it graced his leg, he feared it to be a snake for the quickest of moments.

Lotor offered a smile, leaning down to better see Shiro as he swam and moved about. He was so cute- and had such an expert way of diving. It was a mesmerising sight, to see someone swim and dive with such expertise.

"You swim so well," Lotor complimented fondly as he leant just a little further forwards. Definitely within pulling range. "I had never learned how to swim. The sections of the empire I always worked with were inland and never had a coastline or any rivers deep enough for me to swim in. I can keep myself afloat if it's necessary, but swimming isn't my strong suit."

"Was... where you lived, was that near an ocean?"

Shiro nodded, his smile brightening even more. He waded back to a place he could comfortably stand to give his muscles a break, and leaned against a stone there, the surface of the water lapping about his chest.

"I lived on an island. We were surrounded by oceans," he boasted, tipping his head up a bit. Stray water droplets trickled down the sides of his neck from his hair. "I didn't live too close to the shore, but I wasn't so far inland that I never visited. There was another village — we used to go there to get fish. My father would take me... I think. Him or some other big guy. Still a little fuzzy on the details."

In the hours since the museum visit, Shiro's memories seemed to return to him in a steady sort of flow, revived by the pictures and the golden plaques of that exhibit. Of course, the faces of those from his past were shrouded with the shadow of time. Faces he couldn't even remember properly before he died and woke up in Hell. But... his stories? Pleasant senses of nostalgia? Memories of his many journeys and battles of his life as a general? His life before the gladiator ring — at least a good summary of it? It was all returning to him. He was breaking past the millennia old veil that had blanketed him from such memories. And it was the best feeling, really.

He supposed that was one of the reasons he couldn't stop smiling.

"My town was also on a river bank that fed into a lake — I would swim and fish there all the time," Shiro continued. "I was basically raised on water. I guess that's why I like it so much now..." He trailed off, gaze falling towards the surface of the dark water, and the sparkling reflection of the moon bouncing from its watery felts. "I could stay here forever."

Lotor smiled softly at him, leaning closer, moving one hand to cup Shiro's cheek.

"You sound so old," he said with a little smile. "Reminiscing about your old village, where you used to live. It's sweet." He offered a smile, teasing to let Shiro know that he didn't mean any harm, as he leant in and pressed their lips together. "When are you going to retire from your position as a demon and become a fisherman?"

He ran his hand through Shiro's hair, combing it out of his face again, slicking his back with the water to hold it in place. He liked Shiro with slicked hair- it suited him- but he was mostly just enjoying the time that they spent together. Speaking of hair, though, his own hair had begun growing out again. The last he'd really paid any attention to it, it had been just reading his shoulders, and now it was approaching his mid-back. Not as long as he would like, of course, but it was getting back to where it had once been. But, of course, he went back to teasing Shiro after a moment.

"I can just picture you in a fishing boat, waiting there for hours with a fishing rod, humming to yourself in the solitude of your boat. With all your grey hair because you're so old..."

Shiro gave an offended sort of scoff, narrowing his eyes and looking Lotor up and down.

"Says the guy with a whole head of white hair," he said with a melodramatic sort of flare, pulling away from Lotor's hand to further accentuate his sarcastic offense.

He pushed away from the rocks again, sinking down low in the water so just his eyes peeked out from above the surface. He considered splashing Lotor for a moment or so... but then his eyes went a little wider as another, equally enticing idea came to mind. Shiro sank completely beneath the surface of the water and swam towards Lotor on the rock, sneaky and hidden beneath the dark water. He let Lotor wait a bit curiously for a moment or two, holding his breath tight to keep any sorts of bubbles from giving him away, and then chose his moment to spring. Shiro jumped, scooped Lotor up in one of his arms, and pushed him from his perch on that rock and into the water. He swept Lotor into his arms, ignoring his yelp at the touch of the cool water, and held him in a bridal carry so his head was kept safe and sound above the surface.

"Gotcha!" Shiro laughed, hugging the squirming Lotor tight. "Who's old now?"

Lotor still squirmed, his clothes getting soaked as he thrashed and shoved Shiro.  
"Let go!" he said, though he couldn't quite stop himself from starting to laugh. Shiro always did have such a way with him, and even as he pushed himself back from Shiro he couldn't lose the grin from his lips. He did give up fighting eventually, though, settling in Shiro's arms after a moment. He'd been right- the pool was cool when first entered, but he'd already grown accustomed to it and was more than happy to stay in the water. Well- aside from the fact that his soaked clothes were sticking to him and starting to get uncomfortable.

"Was that necessary?" he asked, pressing a kiss to Shiro's cheek and resting his forehead against Shiro's temple. "You scared me, you know."

Shiro nodded. "Of course this was necessary," he said, sinking a little lower so the water lapped at both of their shoulders. "You called me old. Revenge is a dish best served as surprise attacks."

He gave Lotor a big, watery kiss to the cheek, before leaning up against the rock, still holding Lotor and his soaked clothes beneath the water. "I'm sorry for scaring you," he said, voice a little softer than before. Shiro his knee so Lotor could sit on that instead of bolstering the ex-angel with his arm, and then brought his free hand up to tuck Lotor's hair behind his ears, a bit matted with the water form the splashing. "If it makes you feel any better, I can probably dry you off in a second after you get out." Shiro paused for a moment, and then offered a coaxing sort of smile. "If you want to get out. I could teach you how to swim, if you want."

Lotor hesitated a few moments, shaking his head.  
"I think that I'll be fine without learning to swim." He leant his head back into Shiro's touch as the fingers coaxed through his hair still, smoothening it and tucking it back behind his ear. His eyes closed after a moment, just relaxing with the feeling of Shiro's hand on his cheek and that dull little buzz of the grace he lacked that Shiro suddenly fed him with.

His eyes fixed on Shiro when they opened again- though when he heard a little yapping he turned his attention to Atlas, who was sitting at the open mouth of the cave and beginning to whine because she was soaked in water and getting cold. She didn't want to be in the cold anymore, whining a little, her ears down. Lotor smiled.  
"I suppose that that's out cue," he said softly. "Let's go."

Shiro frowned, and looked up at his hound, the lightest little scowl curling his lips at the idea that she had ruined their little moment so soon. He turned back to Lotor with a pout, brow furrowed weakly over his rounded, puppy-dog eyes.

"Do we have to?" Shiro asked, slumping his shoulders a bit. He looked about the pool, reluctant to leave such a beautiful spot so soon. His eyes settled upon the little waterfall, trickling down from the overhanging stone, creating the perfect little natural shower. "Can we come back more often? Before Hell at least..."

"Of course," Lotor said, learning in and pressing his lips slowly to Shiro's. "We can come here again at least once more, I promise. And you can always return here without me sometimes, I promise that I won't mind." He ran his fingers through Shiro's hair before he pushed himself back to his feet and beginning to step from stone to stone over to the entrance of the cave, where he had to step into the water again when it was up to his knees and wade the rest of the way back.

He rolled down his pant legs again, but no sooner than when he'd straightened up was he knocked off of his feet and onto the ground by Atlas, who had clearly missed the two of them so much while she was five metres away, yapping and kissing Lotor- who pushed back at her paws and demanded for Shiro to call off his hound.

Shiro, laughing a little, stepped his way out from the pool -- using each rock as a step stool until he stood at the very lip of the pond. He shook himself off a little, and then meandered his way towards Lotor. Shiro took his sweet time, watching Atlas lay down her ruthless attack of kisses up and down his face before even bothering to call her off. He did eventually, however, giving a low whistle and snapping his fingers. Atlas listened like she always did, but her tail and her body still waggled in excitement as she watched Shiro reach a hand down to hoist Lotor to his feet.

He looked the ex-angel up and down when Lotor had been standing, eyes rounding a bit at the sodden clothes clinging so tightly to Lotor's form. To his lean muscle and his sturdy build. The sight made Shiro lose track of his words for a moment or two, before he blinked, shook his head, and brought his gaze back to Lotor, still blushing a bit. It was almost as if Shiro hadn't been the one who was actually half naked and in nothing but boxers.

"You're so pretty," Shiro hummed, stepping forwards and slipping a hand around Lotor's waist, pulling him close. He settled his other hand on Lotor's forehead, offering a low sigh as he gathered up his magic -- like he had done before with his necklace, which laid neatly on his chest, and his ring, which was stashed safely in his pants pocket on those rocks. "But I'm sure I've said that before."

It only took a moment or so for Shiro's magic to flood across Lotor's body, pouring over him like the water he was just doused in -- but warmer. Relaxing. It weaved through his clothes and his hair and it graced against his skin, drying it all and leaving a calm sort of warmth in its wake. Like the feeling of clothes after spinning them through a dryer. Once Lotor was dried, his hair wavy and his clothes crisply clean, Shiro brought his hand down from Lotor's forehead, and retired it to his hip to meet the other.

"Does that feel better? I'm sure it does," Shiro said, despite still being all wet himself. His bare back was beginning to crawl with shivers from the breeze, the stray trails of water droplets still trickling down his skin. He wanted to hold Lotor a little closer, but he also didn't want to ruin all that hard work he had put into drying him. "Sorry for pulling you in. It was just so tempting."

"Mhm, I can imagine," Lotor said with an amused kind of smile as he leant in and brought their lips together, running his fingers through Shiro's wet hair and toying with it. "But you don't get away with it that easily, my love."

Lotor took a glance back at how much distance was between Shiro and the pool and setted one hand on his stomach.  
"I'm sorry for this," he said as he pressed one more kiss to Shiro's lips, then shooting a burst of energy through his hand that propelled Shiro backwards. It wouldn't have hurt, he was sure of that, it just would have been like a forceful push that sent Shiro back and into the water, where it was deep enough to go up to your knees. Atlas barked at Shiro a few times and nudged Lotor, as if asking him to bring Shiro back, and Lotor just hooked one arm around her neck to press a kiss to the fur of her muzzle as he watched Shiro resurface.

Shiro broke past the surface with a gasp, his eyes wide as he pushed up on his elbows, still a bit confused. One moment Lotor had been kissing him so sweetly, and the next he had been enveloped by the brisk water of the pool. Shiro whipped his head up, reaching a hand to wipe the water from his eyes. They narrowed when he finally settled them on Lotor, but he couldn't hide the playful smirk that had overcome his features.

"Hey!" he cried. Shiro shook his head like a dog, his bangs sticking to his forehead as he wiped a hand down his wet face. "Did you just-? You pushed me! You- haha! You asshole!"

His accusatory shouts slowly descended into hysterical giggles. Shiro laughed so hard he had to leaned back, one hand on his stomach and the other supporting him on the rock. Atlas bounded to his side, leaping into the water and splashing him in the process, yapping and barking along with his own chuckles.

Shiro contained himself enough to push up from the rocky ground, stray giggles escaping his smiling lips.

"You're lucky I already dried you off -- I'd push you in if I didn't want to waste any more magic drying you."

Lotor was still laughing as he approached Shiro and pulled him to his feet, out of the water, learning down and pressing his lips to his lips gently and closing his eyes. He adored how Shiro looked like this- soaked with water, laughing like he'd never been happier before in his life. He wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed his jaw.

"Dry off, Takashi," he said with a little smile as he leant down again and pressed their lips together once more. "We'll go home, you can kiss me as much as you promised you want, and you can do whatever else you want. We ought to relax as much as we can before we go do something stupid."

He pulled back just a little, Atlas yapping as she came bounding back over to them, beginning to shake herself clean all over the two of them- though Lotor did put up a shield that fizzled around his fingers to block off the water so Shiro wouldn't have to dry him off again, laughing a little as he watched the already-soaked Shiro get further soaked as Atlas dried off, contently dropping onto her back on the grass, lying with her paws in the air to feel the sun and dry off a little more. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth as she looked back at him. Lotor smiled.  
"Looks like someone wants to go home."

Shiro gave a nod, still grinning as he lifted a hand up from his side. He snapped his fingers, his skin flushing with that same sense of warmth he had previously doused Lotor with -- but not in the same sort of spectacular fashion, of course. He dried himself with ease, his bangs curled and soft as they lost that previous dampness, his forelock fluffy over his brow. Shiro snapped his fingers again, and in another instant, he'd been dressed in all those clothes he had draped over that rock, his silver family pendant laying outside his shirt collar, and his engagement ring sparkling on his finger. It took only one more flick of his wrist to dry Atlas off, her fur puffing out a bit when Shiro's magic washed over her.

Finally he had begun to reach his limit, however. He could feel his legs wobble a bit -- Shiro tried his best to keep from swaying on his feet, bringing a hand up to his light head and letting the dizzy spell pass. It would only take a moment, of course. He was much more powerful than he used to be, expending himself was an easy thing to recover from. All he had to do was flutter open his eyes, look up to Lotor, and cast an assuring little grin up at the creature before him.

"Oops," he said, dismissing Lotor's furrowed brow by settling up beside him, leaning his weight into Lotor's chest. "Still a little power crazy. Doesn't matter -- I can still teleport us back super easy. I swear."

Lotor smiled. He took ahold of Shiro's hand and, pressing a delicate kiss to Shiro's cheek and teleporting the two of them home for him.

And they settled on the mattress, they curled up, and they relaxed in each others arms that evening, knowing what their plan was and the grim outcomes that could devastate them.


	32. Home, Sweet Hell

"Just... stay by me, okay, Lotor?"

Shiro's hushed voice whispered in the corridor, hanging amongst the crackle of flames behind those large, stone wall in an echo of sorts. It was quiet aside from that, and the giggling popple of the torches that lit the hall about them. Even Atlas beside him had been quiet, her head ducked and her body tense, fur just barely raised up her spine as she flicked her snarling snout back and forth about her old home.

The heat of the world around them was like a physical thing, as it always was when in Hell -- a fug of breathless air that baked Shiro's skin and prickled the back of his neck with the building sweat upon his skin. Despite the warmth, however, Shiro wore a heavier set of his old armor -- the kind he used to wear as a fresh, bright eyed demon, only redesigned to match the new theme of his soul. Chest plates and arm plates and legs plates, all made from the silver that didn't burn him anymore, glittering beneath the flickering orange light of the torches that lined the corridors of Hell. Carved with the same designs as he helmet from his time as a general, light etchings of dragons curled about the curves of his shoulder plates. Beneath that he wore a tighter sort of undersuit, made from strong, skin tight material, all black beneath the sparkling silver.

Shiro, making sure to use his prosthetic and not his silver gloved hand, reached out to take Lotor's, tugging him forwards towards the wall and then flattening the two of them up against it. He ignored the warm presence of the baking stone beneath his back, and tipped his head up, sniffing the air. It seemed as if his new soul and new blood hadn't done much to erase his old instinct and senses. Shiro could smell demons -- a lot of which weaker than him due to his new status he had stolen from Sendak, of course. He wasn't quite sure the new horns or the new authority would merit much respect however. If he could smell that scent of demon, he was sure those demons could smell the strange new scent of his mixed soul.

"We have to be fast. It doesn't matter if we're quiet -- I'm sure between the two of us the other demons can smell us from miles away," Shiro explained. He sniffed the air again, focusing hard to pick through the each and every winding trail of scents, coated in that unbearable mass of heat and dryness. "The only way to navigate Hell is with your nose. It's nothing but endless passageways and doorways. I need to try and find Zarkon's scent and follow it."

Shiro looked up at Lotor, his voice growing a bit more stern, his eyes focusing and setting into a serious sort of stare. He held his sword a bit tighter, his fist tightening around the hilt. It was his old general sword from the exhibit -- Shiro had broken his promise about stealing from the museum to snatch his weapon from his glory days. Shiro had fixed it up, and then tried his best to cast multiple spells upon it, using his knowledge of old magic to tie the item to his soul, along with his pendant and his ring from Lotor. He wore both -- Shiro found it rare he'd go an instant without either of them on or near his person.

"We're going to come across demons on the way," Shiro said, still looking at Lotor. "Let me take care of them -- you just save your strength for Zarkon, okay?"

"And leave you to fight?" Lotor asked, shaking his head. "We're together. We'll fight together. I'm not going to leave you to a battle like this alone."

Shiro furrowed his brow. "I can handle it," he assured earnestly, eyes rounding with concern. "I used to battle all alone in the ring -- enemy after enemy. Let me fight for you, Lotor. Please. If you get hurt before your fight with Zarkon, he'll exploit it."

"He'll exploit what he can anyway," Lotor said, sending Shiro a glance from the corner of his eye. "And do you think every demon you come across won't do the same?"

He took Shiro's hand and peppered a few kisses along his knuckles, as if to soothe Shiro's nerves. It felt nice to hold Shiro so close. It felt nice to be held by Shiro. The stunning and pure silver that adorned Shiro's body didn't hurt him, unlike Shiro's precautions would have one believe, but instead simply provided a dull irritation. If he had to compare it to anything, he'd say it was like getting a rash, or having insects scuttling about his flesh, giving an itching sensation but underlying it with some sensation similar to burning.

Regardless, he held Shiro. He pressed closer to him, he stuck himself to Shiro's side like it was all that mattered to him to be close. He was trusting Shiro to lead him around, to direct him through hell, to safely direct him to the most dangerous person in life and in death. Even if he was soon to be facing the most insufferable, intimidating person to have ever existed, Lotor felt unusually relaxed. Almost absurdly so. It was as if something about Shiro eased all anxiety from his system- that or it had overloaded him so badly he couldn't even feel it anymore.

Neither of them would be good signs.

"How long do you expect it'll be before we find him?" Lotor asked, some sense of unease eating away at his stomach from simply thinking of his father again. "I fear that I'll freeze up if I see him out of nowhere- I want to avoid complications in the plan. I want to fight, slaughter, and be victorious."

He wore armour, though not like Shiro's. His was the same as it was in life, in all incidents of combat aside from the one that had cost him his life. He didn't wear some leather armour, he wore armour made of a durable and dense steel, malleable and ductile. It was tight, it fit his body well, and it would prevent him from being grabbed and held back. On top of this, it would decrease air resistance and hopefully allow him more freedom of movement. His fighting style was dynamic, it was fast, it required a lot of evading and slick, swift manoeuvres that needed precise timing. His fighting style was a mix of the old Altean, the Galra he'd known in life, and other styles from culture's he'd been involved with. During his first exploit out to a colony, he'd learned their language, their food and recipes, their culture, and then their fighting style. He had done the same with several other colonies he'd visited, and now found it easy to counter any kind of fighting style provided he had enough time to study it. He knew such a variety of combat methods that he could do whatever he chose without issue.

He would need a few minutes giving his father the upper hand to study and learn his fighting style and feed his arrogance. His father, if he was anything as he'd used to be, would get cocky, would get arrogant, and would get comfortable. Then, only then, would Lotor be able to change from the defensive to the offensive with a style that would contrast his father's and give him the upper hand.

If he managed that, then he would win without issue. The only thing that he had to bear in mind was that he hadn't seen his father in millennia. So much could have changed.

But it was a risk he would just have to take.

Shiro settled his eyes closed and tipped his head back, breathing in rather deeply through his nose, taking in all those trails and scents. He focused for a moment or so, not allowing himself to exhale as he mapped out the corridors about them the best he could with nothing but the smells. After that long pause, however, Shiro fluttered open his eyes and let out a long sighing breath. Shiro lifted his hand, and pointed down the left side of the main hall.

"He's that way," he said, eyes still closed. "The scent is strong -- I'd say about fifteen, twenty minutes away. There's two or three demons on the way there, and then there's... maybe four or five stationed at what has to be the door to his throne room. Then there's probably more inside. I'm sure most of them have already smelled me. I'm also sure Zarkon has already smelled us too... which means we don't have the best element of surprise. But we went over that back at the warehouse."

"We just need to get there fast and deal with this as quickly as we can. The longer that this will take us, the longer that it will be overall. I just want to get this over and done with, and I don't doubt that you do too."

He began to move a little faster, urging Shiro to do the same, wanting to cut this walk down as much as he could. Hell was a confusing place, though, and every time there was another path they could take Shiro would have to pause to see if he could track down Zarkon's scent. Even if Atlas was the hound, Shiro was seemingly better at the job she should have. Lotor would have thought she'd be the one following the smell but she seemed to be there more for support, to be a threat and make Shiro more of a threat. She'd gotten bigger while she was here, too, as if she shrunk down her form back at the warehouse to be more convenient. Now, as she had been the first time Lotor had seen her, she was almost twice Shiro's size and her bristled fur brushed against the top of the cave-like corridor that they walked through.

He had to admit, though, that he was relieved to hear her dull, rumbling growl emanating from behind him. It was a reassurance that there was no immediate danger and he had a pretty damn intimidating hound watching his back.

Shiro tried to stay in front of the group, having to account for Lotor's impatience and his own pausing every few corridors to sniff the air. He still wasn't very settled on the idea of fighting the smaller demons together -- Shiro knew he could handle them on his own. He also knew he didn't want Lotor hurting himself or over exerting himself before his destined fight with the damn near king of the underworld. Shiro kept alert, the scent of demon growing closer with each turn and each stop. It wasn't until they approached the corner of one corridor that he froze, locked up. Shiro lifted up one of his hands to stop both Lotor and Atlas.

He didn't even have to sniff to know there were three demons on the next turn.

And it didn't take them long to smell Shiro and Lotor either.

"What the hell is that?" a gruff voice asked behind the turn.

Another responded after a thoughtful sniff. "Like... fukin' angel but... not? There's two. Real close."

Shiro grit his teeth, his hand sinking down to the hilt of his sword, moving delicately and silently as he unsheathed it -- the steel just barely whispered against the handsome wood of the sheath. The demons smelled of higher rank, maybe Sendak's or even above. That either meant that they were close to Zarkon's corridor, or Zarkon had sent out scouts to guard the halls. Either idea made Shiro's stomach twist.

"Stay here," Shiro hissed in a voice nearly quieter than breath.

Atlas gave a low, rumble of a growl in response. Shiro narrowed his eyes and turned around to look at her. He shook his head.

"You too, Attie," he said sharply, earning what had to be the closest thing to a double take that a hound such as Atlas could even do. "I mean it."

Without taking any sort of argument from either of them, Shiro flattened himself against the wall again, and slinked his way forwards, using his nose and his ears to tell just how close those demons had been. They were moving — his direction. Shiro grit his teeth and tensed his muscles, poising himself for action as he waited for the perfect moment to strike.

The demons would have to take about four paces further... close enough for Shiro to turn the corner and kill one of them with at least the slightest element of surprise. He listened to the footsteps draw closer and closer, his breath held tightly in his chest. The moment to strike came quickly -- and Shiro didn't dare hesitated. That very instant he heard the tap of the fourth step, Shiro pushed off all of the tension he'd been building in the balls of his feet, and whirled around the corner, his sword flashing in the light of the torches as he slashed it forwards-

Fuck.

There was a magnificent clang of steel upon steel -- it seemed as though one of those three demons had faster reflexes than Shiro could have accounted for.

However Shiro didn't let the shock cause him to falter, and instead took the surprise of the three adversary demons to his own advantage. He gave a growl, lifted his foot and slammed it into the chest of the demon with the sword, who had frozen up in his own awe at what had to have been Shiro's odd new appearance. That demon stumbled backwards, but then the two others, snapping from their dazes, filled in his place -- each one drawing their swords.

Shiro had to thumb through his archived memories of all those matches in the gladiator ring for the proper tactics. He blocked a slash from the demon to the right, and then dodged the second demon's attack with a simple turn of his body. He fended them each off a moment or so, completely on the defensive -- blocking and parrying and dodging in a swayed two on one battle -- but then the third demon had joined in and Shiro's odds were once again narrowed. He could only block so much, the armor took care of the rest. Silver that glinted and warded the demons from getting too close for their own comfort. He was sure the silver armor had been the only thing keeping the fight in a fair-ish sort of scale. They overpowered him, of course, but they could only do so much and only get so close.

But Shiro's face and head was unprotected territory.

He didn't know where the blow had come from -- the fight was sort of a vicious tussle with him in the very center of it -- but Shiro surely did feel the slash of claws against his cheek. He surely did feel the sharpened nails slice through his skin and then the hot blood flow in the burning wake of those scratches. It had thrown Shiro off, causing him to snap his eyes closed and stumble. Then all it took was a shove to his chest, as the expense of the sizzling burn of one of the demon's hands of course, to send him slamming back against the wall. All Shiro could see were flashes of stars in his hazy vision after slamming the back of his head against the hot stone behind him, but once he blinked that all away, he straightened up, still gripping tight to the sword in his hands as he watched the demons before him with tactically narrowed eyes.

They surrounded him, prowling like a pack of the animals they were -- a curled tail in the wake of each one, snapping like a cat's would when it has cornered its canary. He had done a far amount of damage in that fight. The demon to the very left had one hand clutched about her stomach, holding a large gash that oozed inky black blood around her arm. The one in the middle had a long cut sliced from his shoulder down to his chest, cutting down to bone as it seemed, a splintered white showing through the mess of black blood and red muscle. The one on the very right had a busted lip and a slashed leg, causing him to limp as he moved. Shiro found himself wanting to smirk at all of the carnage -- especially at the idea his worst injury had been a bruised side and a bloody cheek...

But his humor left him when he realized it was that bloody cheek all those demons had been eying.

"Is that...?" The demon on the right trailed off, her eyes rounding. Blood coated her lips as she spoke, but she didn't seem to mind. The hunger was already settling in her features.

"It can't be." The left demon swallowed hard before continuing. "He's a demon- right? It's just fuckin' Shiro."

The one in the middle shook his head. He was smiling, fangs glinting in the torchlight. "Didn't you guys hear?" he asked, a deep purr kick starting in his chest and curling around his words. "He's a demon with grace pumping through him now -- he stole it from an angel."

Shiro grit his teeth, lifting his hand up to wipe the blood away. It was pointless -- the wounds were still open. All he did was smear it back across his face.

"I didn't steal anything," he said. "Fuck off. I'll kill you if you get any closer."

Even with his confident words, there was no denying they seemed to tremble a bit. He knew what it was like to be a demon caught on the scent of anything remotely close to angel blood from experience. The savage ruthlessness. The mindless want to suck down every last drop. They'd rip him apart without a second thought -- without even bothering to care about the burn of the silver beneath the buzz of the blood.

"Ohh yeah," the demon on the right murmured, cocking her head and drawing closer. "There's definitely angel... something in him. I want it."

Shiro held the sword out to her. "I said fuck off!" he snarled, eyes widening a bit.

The demon on the left then began to draw closer. He didn't even flinch when Shiro swung the sword to his side. "I want it too..." He inhaled deeply through his nose, smile growing all the more deranged. All the more... animalistic.

Shiro scrambled to take a step backwards, but the wall was a very present thing behind him, the bricks baking with the heat of Hell outside. The three were closing in, creeping slow, only barely reacting to the wild swings of Shiro's sword. He'd be able to kill one of them... perhaps even two, but they had him at all angles -- all because of that damned wall. One was bound to leap when he was preoccupied with one of the others.

And it wouldn't be too hard to rip his throat out with those fangs...

But Shiro, in his panic, had forgotten about Lotor and Atlas being on his side. Lotor raised his own sword, drew it back, and while the demons were still preoccupied with Shiro and the blood pearling up from under his skin, leaking out in an almost hypnotic iridescent shine, he struck.

All it took was one clean and precise strike to a demons neck to take the head clean off; especially while she had been stood still, making it far easier than anticipated. The sound of metal slashing through flesh and searing it away, followed by the spurting of blood and slumping of a body and a head separated, was something that stole away the focus from the blood that Shiro spilled. Lotor swung his sword again- though this time not for a fatal blow, hitting the second demon in the armoured stomach with such force that it sent him into his accomplice, the two of them collapsing over each other. Lotor drew up his sword again, but Atlas took one of the two demons away before he got into an unfair fight.

She grabbed him by his ankle and dragged him over, causing the demon to cry out in pain and fear upon seeing the hound he was rivalled with. His sword had fallen from his grip, and his helmet fell from his head when he was lifted off of the ground, now upside-down. Atlas flicked her head to slam him against the wall before dropping him, barking as she stomped on him with one foot. She looked down at him like he was a chew toy, yapping excitedly as she leant down and bit him again, this time picking him up by his chest, chewing on him, dropping to all fours to hold the screaming, dying demon between her front paws. She chewed and chewed until there was nothing but a mangled mess lying in her hold.

Distracted by the gruesome display, the final demon hadn't notice Lotor's approach until Lotor's sword had slid through the gap between the chestplate and the metal that protected his stomach, pushing all of his weight onto it until it began to pierce the floor. Lotor then pulled back, the silver from his weapon (which had begun to irritate him, thus the reason why he wore gloves) beginning to burn and sear the demon as he bled. Lotor would have gone for a more merciful fate, but he had at least aimed for the heart. The demon wouldn't live too much longer, and was no longer a threat.

He approached Shiro, still seemingly in some state of shock, and took out a cloth from his pocket.

"Clean up that blood," he ordered, though his tone was a soft juxtaposition from the directness of his words, turning his gaze to Atlas as she nudged forward the helmet of the soldier, letting out a soft little whine as if she was asking if she'd done a good job. Lotor smiled, settling one hand atop of her muzzle and petting her- careful not to touch the sickly blood that coated her white fur. "You were so good, Attie!" He praised, smiling up at her. "So good! Who's a good girl? Tearing all the bad demons apart? You're a good girl!"

Shiro looked down to the cloth Lotor had given him, his eyes still wide and his breath still feeling light in his chest. There was a moment or so of stalled, shocked silence, but Shiro shook it away with a clearing of his throat. He brought the cloth up to his face and held it against the slashes, hoping to stem the blood flow a bit before wiping the excess away. Once he was done, Shiro snapped the cloth somewhere far away, and turned to face Lotor, who still coddled Shiro's bloodsoaked hound.

"I had that completely under control," Shiro said, clearing his throat again. Atlas gave a huff, leaning up to look at hims with suspiciously narrowed eyes -- Shiro just stared right back. "I did! Really. I... I had that whole situation under control."

"Mhm, of course you did," Lotor said as he pulled Shiro back away from the wall, smiling at him. "Don't dwell on it, just stop the bleeding and we'll keep going. You should keep Atlas on your side for this- it'll be good to have another pair of eyes on your back in case anything happens. And... she's a pretty adept killer." He smiled softly at Atlas, who nudged Lotor in return as if to say thanks, then turning her focus to Shiro, head cocked to the side. She let out a little huff of air at him, nudging him as well and whining.

Lotor frowned, turning his focus back to Shiro.  
"They only got your cheek, right? You're fine other than that?"

Shiro nodded his head quickly, reaching up to wipe at his cheek again. For some reason, his hand had been trembling -- ever so slightly, of course, but there was no denying the tremor in his own touch against his face. Shiro just hoped Lotor wouldn't notice it.

"Yeah," he said, throat a little dry. "Yeah. Just my cheek..."

There was a lapse in his words, and Shiro flicked his eyes off to the side, looking at the scattered demon remains about the stone floor.

He looked up to Lotor very quickly, eyes rounded, hands still shaking at his sides. "What am I going to do if I start bleeding again?" he asked, voice soft -- just on the edge of being afraid. Shiro tried his best to preserve his dignity as he went on, but there was no denying the panicked lift in his words. "They... fuck, Lotor, they looked like they wanted to rip me apart. I froze up -- it was fucking terrifying. The look in their eyes..." Shiro cleared his throat again, lifting a nervous hand up to wipe at the dried blood on his cheek. "Is that what you felt like? Is that what I looked like to you?"

Lotor moved his hands to cup Shiro's cheeks, suddenly being far more delicate. He tilted Shiro's head up a little, looking into his eyes.  
"You were never a threat to me," he said, each word uttered with sincerity and total honesty. "You were never someone that I was scared of or that I would have thought would tear me apart to taste my blood. Even after you'd drunk from me, I could see that you were restrained. I never had a reason to be scared around you." He stepped closer, once more letting his forehead rest against Shiro's.

He moved one hand to run through Shiro's hair, trying to soothe his anxieties away.  
"I felt that way with some people, yes, but never with you. I was scared like that around Sendak, though that fear was reasonable. I was never scared that you would do such a thing. We need to keep going, we've gotten this far already, but you can't freeze up if that happens again. No matter how badly you get cut, no matter how much you're bleeding, no matter who you're facing, you can't let fear get the better of you. And you know that if the tides turn, and the odds aren't in your favour, I will fight tooth and nail to protect you." He pulled back, pressing a soft kiss to Shiro's forehead. "Okay?"

Shiro settled his eyes closed, leaning into his delicate touch. Into his delicate kiss. He offered a slow nod when Lotor had pulled his lips back, his breath long and slow as he exhaled through his nose.

'Okay," he whispered, feeling only a pinch of fear resonate somewhere deep in the core of his system. "Okay... yeah. I can do that."

He tipped his head back up, fluttering his eyes open again. Shiro mustered up a twitch of a smirk, wiping away at his blood one last time before he vowed to leave the freshly scabbed over slashes alone. "Sorry," he said with a sarcastic huff of laughter. "That was dumb. We talked about me having angel blood... I don't know why it was that big of a scare."

Atlas gave a low, friendly sort of whine, and nudged her blood splattered nose into his neck in a form of comfort. Shiro gave a low groan when she pulled back, feeling cool, inky black demon blood trickle down the side of his neck. The sound only inspired her to boop him again with that bloody face of hers -- and again and again. She even managed to lick his face, coating his own dried wounds with a slobbery streak of inky blood, trailing it all the way up to his hairline. He was laughing by then, turned away from Lotor so he could push Atlas away.

"Atlas! That's gross," he whined, stepping back. Shiro wiped his hand down his face to try and rid himself of the bloody slobber, not even noticing he had just stepped in the warm puddle oozing from Atlas's previous victim. "No kisses until you brush your teeth!"

Grinning, Lotor stepped in and pulled Shiro closer to him, taking the cloth he'd offered before and starting to clean his face, grimacing a little at the sticky consistency of Atlas's slobber. "Come on," he said as he wiped away mark after mark. "Let's go. We need to get moving before anyone else gets here. We don't know how many patrols could come this route or who could notice that this patrol is missing."

He took Shiro's hand, not waiting for an agreement before he began to drag him along the corridor that'd been going down. He nudged Shiro ahead and stopped, waiting for him to go ahead and sniff the air to ensure that it was safe for them to go, or that they were going in the right direction. He had sheathed his sword already and Atlas was beginning to follow, no longer overexcited and focusing back on helping Shiro sniff the air, ears pricked as she listened for any other approaching guards or patrols.

"Is there a way that we could hurry this up?" Lotor asked after a few minutes.

Shiro flicked him a stare, offering a slight frown.

"I'm going as fast as I can, babe," he muttered, slowing to a stop and sniffing the air again. Shiro modded his head down the right corridor, and their odd group scampered along it, pausing the next time Shiro needed to map out the building. "I'd say we have about two more turned until we come across the door to Zarkon's part of Hell... which is weird. I thought there'd be more demons after those few back there."

He straighten up a little, dragging his stare across the fork in the hall, looking left and then right and then back behind them. There was a slight divot between his brows as they furrowed, lips curling into an uncomfortable frown. Shiro gave a quiet, muttered curse beneath his breath, shaking his head a little.

"Zarkon probably called all the scouts to his room," Shiro said, slipping his sword back in its sheath. There was a soft click as the sword fell into place. "I can smell them. Like a mass of them -- all gathered in one spot. Zarkon knows we're here -- he's building up his defenses already."

"Then let's not give him any more time to prepare," he said as he let his hand fall to his hip, settling on the hilt of his sword. "We need to go. I don't want to waste any more time." He began ahead, getting irate- too impatient to drag this out any longer. He didn't want to waste his time turning corners and discussing the situation they'd get into. He'd dealt with plenty of situations that were equally dangerous while knowing less. He could manage.

He stopped at a doorway that Shiro told him led to Zarkon's room, freezing up and pressing against the wall.

"On three?" he asked, listening into the room to see if he could hear anything- but there was no decipherable conversation. The muttering from inside, though quiet, was a cacophony of hushed overlapping voices. Even if he'd tried, Lotor wouldn't have been able to untangle one word from another, much less a full sentence. Finding out anything about their plans was helpless- so they would just have to charge.

Shiro, pressed up against the wall on the other side of the door, seemed to have gone through a considerable change. For the first time since his soul had been restored, his prior demon traits seemed to become a bit more apparent than they had been. His teeth had been grit, his fangs bared. His eyes were narrowed and his pupils were constricted. Shiro could feel all of the hair at the back of his neck stand on edge, his skin crawling with all of the scents that seemed to fester behind that door.

It had been a long time since he had felt any sort of demon instinct, let alone any sort of demon instincts as powerful as the ones he had been feeling right then and there. Shiro barely even heard Lotor's voice, the blood had been pumping so heavily in his ears. He had flicked his gaze to Lotor, away from the wooden set of french doors, decorated in old, worn iron with a knocker in the shape of a snarling lion, crafted from the same supernatural material Shiro's arm used to be made of. It took him a moment or so to even register Lotor's words, but once he did, Shiro blinked his eyes and shook his head a little, trying to ease the slight stutter of his breath.

"Sorry- uh- it's the smells," he muttered, voice still a little distant. Shiro looked back to the door, feeling his eyes go round again. "But yeah. On three. Sounds like a plan..."

"Are you sure?" Lotor asked, turning to look at Shiro and moving over to him, cupping his cheek. "You seem dizzy, don't push yourself." He wanted to get this over with. Desperately, in fact, but he didn't want to end up pushing Shiro too far. Not only because he cared about him, but also because he couldn't take the risk of giving Shiro a disadvantage and therefore putting himself at a disadvantage.

He gently ran his fingertips along Shiro's cheek before he leant in and pressed their lips together. He figured that it was the best way to save Shiro from any further distractions. It was the best way to bring his focus somewhere safe.  
"I love you," he said softly, breaking away, giving Shiro a reassuring smile. "We'll be okay, but you have to focus. Can you get yourself one of those masks? Like the one you wore to the museum?" He glanced to the door before turning his attention back to Shiro. He didn't want it to be too clear how eager he was to get this done with.

Shiro took in a long, shaky breath. "It's fine. Good, actually," he said, words punchy and quick. His skin felt like it was crawling... or... perhaps it was simply laced with electricity. The smells of all those demons were making him ansty. Anxious for action. It was the closest he had gotten to going feral ever since the fight with Sendak. Shiro shook his head to clear it, focusing on the ghost of Lotor's lips against his own. "It actually might help me fight. I haven't... fuck, I haven't been around this many demons in a while. That's all it is.'

He closed his eyes and shook his head again, before looking back up at Lotor, a new sort of determination set in his features.

"I can do this." His voice was firm as he set his hand upon the wooden door, ignoring the heat that rushed up from his fingertips and into his bloodstream. "I'll break the door open with my magic on three, alright? I go in first, you cover me. I'll try to get you to Zarkon the best I can."

"Alright," Lotor said, moving back a little and watching Shiro begin to the door. "Just storm in. I'll be right behind you, babe, trust me."

He was starting to feel anxious. His stomach was beginning to twist out of nervousness and he almost didn't want to get inside- but he steeled his fear, he grit his teeth, and he let his hand settle on the hilt of his sword. He wasn't going to let himself get overwhelmed with fear. He wouldn't let it get to him. It was only justified to be a little anxious about this, though, wasn't it? Pretty much everyone would have been as nervous as he was if they were seeing their abusive father after thousands of years apart, especially if they were going to kill their abusive father, too.

And with the chance of all of this failing... It was more than justified.

"One," Lotor said, cutting down on his own anxious waiting time, his eyes locking with Shiro's. Magic began to gather at Shiro's fingertips, spreading up and throughout the wood of the door, the very fibers of it absorbing the energy Shiro poured out from the palm of his hand. 

 

"Two..."

The door was so very close to splintering... Shiro could hear the demons' chattering cease at the crackling power that moved up and down the door frame. Something sparkled in his system at the slight sense of fear he smelled begin to brew from the demons within. It made his eyes narrow, his lips quirk. It made Atlas beside him give a growl of pure anticipation. They were both set on the very edge at the mere scent of it... and suddenly Shiro couldn't even seem to wait for Lotor's last number.

So Shiro's voice was the next to ring out into the halls.

"Three!"

The door snapped inwards, Shiro's magic simply exploding through its frame as the wood finally reached its limit. Its breaking point. Fragments of sturdy yet ancient oak exploded in towards Zarkon's room -- towards Zarkon's demons. Fragments and shards of the metal hinges and decor slammed against the stone floors with heavy clangs. The knocker -- that snarling lion -- landed clean at Shiro's feet in one, beautifully sculpted piece, fallen on its side and turned so its teeth bared outwards at its original owner.

Shiro's sword was out in an instant, pointed outwards towards the swarm of demons standing guard at the doorway. Behind them opened up a grand sort of throne room, with deep purple banners, streaked with red and deep, sparkling silver. All of which decorated with the chiling symbols of the Galran empire -- as if Zarkon hadn't quite been ready to shed himself of his past. The ceilings were high and the walls that lined them were long, though very far wall was clear. Fitted with a large throne, set in the exact center and crafted of the human bone, scorched black with flame and soot.

Upon that throne sat the man... the thing himself. Smelling of such power Shiro could barely hope to ignore. Watching him with such an evil stare Shiro couldn't help but allow his skin to shudder against his bones. Sitting there with such a presence, Shiro knew it wouldn't be long before the monster had him hooked under his spell of dominance. Hooked under his spell of vile authority -- just like he had hooked Shiro in life.

Zarkon.

Shiro leapt forwards, ignoring the dark presence in the back of the room in favor for the group in front of him -- over the black lion head. Atlas moved with him as he started forwards, skidding to a stop right before the swarm of shocked demons, who all looked at him with widened eyes. Eyes swarming with their black magic, with their dark pasts, with their afterlife of torture that Shiro had once gone through.

Eyes... eyes that he used to have himself.

Shiro's sword of silver glinted beneath the flickering flames of Zarkon's throne room, as did his armor. He watched the way the demons eyed him with wary, feeling something strange and new rise in him -- in spite of all that chaos the scents around him seemed to brew.

When he spoke, it was with a voice he could hardly recognize.

"I don't want to kill you all," Shiro said, voice echoing up throughout the high ceilings, mingling with the crackling flame. Atlas gave a low growl right along with it, lowering her head and raising up her hackles, teeth gnashing like mad as she pulled back her lips to show them all. "I was once like you -- I don't want to fight. Get out of my way."

A beat of shock pulsed through the swarm before him. A swarm of about twenty or twenty five -- thirty at most. Shiro didn't blame them. He knew what it was like to live a life of kill or be killed. To live a life where no demon gets mercy. He was almost positive his offer for peace would fall on deaf ears... it was just how they were. It was just like he used to be.

So of course, he wasn't surprised when a demon fitted in old, black armor stepped up -- her own sword drawn and at her side.

"Of course you don't want to fight," she snapped, her fangs bared, her tail snapping behind her. "Because we'll rip you to pieces and feast on your blood, traitor."

"I'm not a traitor," Shiro growled, adjusting his grip on the hilt of his sword. "Please, get out of our way. I'm not going to ask again."

The demon gave a scoff, prowling forwards. "That's right you won't," she snapped, a smile curling up her lips. She ran her tongue across her fangs -- they glistened in the light of the torches. Shiro could see the way she readied herself for the pounce by the set of her legs and the poising of her muscles... "Because you'll be dead before you get the chance."

She lunged -- though it was nothing Shiro didn't expect. He blocked the blow with his sword, quick to take the upper hand. Shiro swept his leg beneath hers, slid his sword down so their handguards locked, and forced the demon down on her knees. He unarmed her with an easy flick of his wrist, his silver hilt touching the skin of her hand with a sizzle of burning flesh. Shiro then twisted her around and wrapped his arm about her throat, presenting his catch to the swarm of demons as she let out a blood curdling scream at the touch of his silver armor.

"Is this enough proof?" Shiro shouted. "Now fuck off!"

He shoved her down to the ground, stepping over her writhing form and leaving her for Atlas to play with. He started towards the swarm, sword raised and eyes burning. He couldn't deny the slight ease at his new soul at the sound of some of the demons in the back teleport from the room -- but plenty of them still remained. Plenty that he would kill to keep himself alive.

What? He had a promise to keep, after all.

"Lotor!" Shiro shouted, as two more demons approached him. "This is going to go fast and Zarkon won't wait for me to kill his whole army. Start towards the throne, alright? I'll cover you!"

Lotor had followed Shiro in, watched his shouted threats and his attack- before his eyes had fixed upon the intimidating silhouette of his father, standing from his throne in the same slow, patient manner as he'd always done. He took a few steps toward Zarkon's throne, the demons successfully distracted as they surrounded Shiro. His father didn't seem to mind, though.

"Lotor," the low, rumbling voice came out. Slick as ever, though grating, as if a hiss through a cat's purr. Malicious, yes, but under a layer of subtle excitement. His father was going to try to kill him, yes, but there wasn't a doubt in Lotor's mind that he'd enjoy every single second of it. "You've returned. I did wonder where you were when you weren't already rotting in hell."

Hand still settled on the hilt of his sword, Lotor grit his teeth.  
"Ah, well, there was only room enough in hell for one of us," he said. "I'd already tried to take your throne in life, I figured that I should let you settle down a little before I took your throne in death."

His father laughed. A loud, rumbling sort of roaring laughter that made him bear his row of sharp teeth and his forked tongue. Truly, he had manifested as the devil Lotor always knew that he was. A grin curled onto Zarkon's lips, excited, eager, malicious, cruel. And he curled his hands into fists.

"You plan on taking my throne?" Bloodlust curled up around his words. Lotor almost felt his own fear coiling up around him but had to catch himself. He had to remind himself that he wasn't simply Zarkon's son, and he never would be. He wasn't going to be beaten anymore. He wasn't going to be abused. He wasn't going to die again, and if he did it wouldn't be because of Zarkon.

His father raised a hand, beckoning him closer.

"Then I accept your challenge. Come here and claim it. If you can take my bloody throne from my bloody hands, if you truly believe that you can bear the burden that weighs upon my shoulders, then charge at me. I won't stop you from trying."

So, Lotor supposed as he drew his sword, holding it in a tight grip by his side. He might as well charge.

And charge he did, dashing toward his father with his usual catlike agility. Zarkon drew back his fists as Lotor approached, preparing himself to strike the ex-angel. When he swung, however, Lotor dropped to his back and slid across the floor, out of the way, kicking himself to his feet and charging at Zarkon. He swung his sword, but it was stopped by Zarkon's arms and the gauntlet that guarded it. So Lotor swung again, though he still had yet to meet flesh or do damage.

He retreated, taking a few paces back, gripping tighter to his sword. The pure silver that had cast the sword was beginning to sizzle away at Zarkon's armour, though, weakening it as it corroded away the burning metal.

A little glint of hope, perhaps.

His father didn't seem to notice, though, taking a few paces toward him and drawing up his fists. Not in a protective manner, though- Zarkon saw no reason to defend himself, judging from how weak Lotor's attempts at attack had been thus far.

But what had slipped his mind was Lotor's tactics for fighting. Consistent, prepared. He was just learning how Zarkon fought, preparing himself to change his tactics accordingly. He was adjusting with what he learned. He wasn't just Galra-trained, he wasn't just a Galra soldier, he had learned how to fight like the Alteans, he had learned to fight like Shiro had by studying his fights, he had learned to fight in a variety of ways for every potential opponent and every weapon he was supplied with. If his father wasn't wearing such heavyset armour, this fight would have been much easier.

Zarkon took initiative this time, beginning to charge at Lotor with his fist raised, drawing his arm back and swinging it down- though due to their height difference, with Zarkon being almost twice Lotor's size (much bigger if his horns were measured, too), his fist collided with the sizzling stone ground when Lotor evaded impact.

When Zarkon attempted to tug his wrist back, though, the sharpened claws on the gauntlet had caught in the floor and wouldn't move- instead dislodging the armour plates between his wrists and the back of his hand. Lotor, aware of how infinitesimal the chances were that he'd get an opportunity like this again, struck. He severed his father free himself, but his method of doing so wasn't to remove the gauntlet from the ground. It was simply to save hassle- if he took off the hand at the wrist, there would be nothing to get stuck.

The silver sword sizzled as it cut through flesh and bone- like a heated knife through butter. The scream, both enraged and agonised, that tore from Zarkon's throat was therapeutic in it's own twisted sort of way; the only consequence was that it also stole away the attention of most demons, changing their focus from Shiro to Lotor. Zarkon drew back his fist, spurting and spitting up blood, and let out an infuriated warcry as he swung his other fist. Lotor, who had gotten distracted momentarily when he felt the sheer number of eyes suddenly upon him, glanced over at his father when he noticed the movement- and felt a heavy metal fist collide with his armour. It sent him across the room, slamming against the far wall and sprawling onto the ground, grunting in pain.

"Lotor!"

Shiro had nearly been pinned down when Zarkon's scream had burst from his lips and proceeded to echo across the throne room. He and Atlas had done a fair amount of damage to that swarm of demons while he left Lotor to fight his father -- but a crowd of twenty against a half-demon and his ex-Hellhound can only be held at bay for so long. Shiro had sliced through about ten, twelve demon bodies before he had gotten cut somehow. Perhaps he had gotten distracted by the battle back by Zarkon's throne. The sound of silver against demon metal or the scrabble of a fight could have easily drawn Shiro's attention from his own desperate battle. A knife against his cheek or a clawed hand swiping down against one of the less protected areas of his body was all it would take for some of the balance to sway.

It had been a slice somewhere down at his thigh, where the armor plating didn't cover. The moment the marbled silver hit the air, the demons around him fought with a different kind of fervor. It didn't take long to get pinned against the floor -- two demons on his chest, three on what seemed to be each of his arms, two more holding down his legs. Atlas was having her own problems across the room, and Shiro's sword had been knocked from his hand, just a few paces away. He had just begun to feel the tickle of breath against his throat, fangs gracing against his sensitive skin, when Zarkon had screamed.

All the heads had turned. Shiro took it as an advantage -- bucking up his chest and throwing the demons off of balance. He kicked his legs, wrenched his arms, and in a moment he had fought his way free of the shocked grasps of the demons around him. Shiro had leapt to his feet, a wide smile on his face as he whipped around to face where the scream had come from -- wondering if lotor had actually done it. If he had actually killed Zarkon once and for all...

And then Shiro watched Lotor get punched across the room.

It was then he cried out for Lotor, starting forwards towards Zarkon with nothing but balled fists -- but then the demons leapt on him again. He called Lotor's name again, telling him to get up as he kicked back the demons that grabbed at his feet and swung punches at those who tried to grab at his arms.

Lotor pushed himself to his feet, Zarkon beginning to approach and preparing for another strike when Atlas barked and came running over, leaping at Zarkon and making him stumble. She distracted him long enough for Lotor to get to his feet and recollect his bearings, but Zarkon had recovered equally as quickly and grabbed Atlas, throwing her to the floor and driving a kick to her stomach before he turned to focus on Lotor.

Atlas whimpered, her ears folding back as she got to her feet again, turning and dashing away from Zarkon out of fear.

"Atlas!" Lotor called out, his eyes fixing on her for a moment. Zarkon attempted to strike when he was distracted again but Lotor noticed and he missed- until Zarkon drove his elbow into Lotor's chest forcefully and once more knocked him down. He hit the floor hard, the heated stone burning the back of his neck. He tried to draw up his arms to protect his face and throat but Zarkon had already grabbed him by the throat.

 

"You've caused me too much trouble in my years," he hissed out. "Too weak to even put up an entertaining fight. My wayward son, poisoned with Altean energy, with deluded ideas of pacifism, and now weakened further after years of being a pathetic 'angel'."

Lotor gasped for breath, choking for it. His sword had clattered just out of reach- typical- so he dug his nails into Zarkon's hands and tried to pry the fingers away from around his throat. He choked, he coughed, he began to kick at Zarkon to get him off.

His vision was beginning to blur, to go dark, he got increasingly more panicked but felt himself getting weaker with each movement.

 

"You'll never be anything but a disappointment. To me, to Haggar, and to everyone in heaven. You'll die a wretch."


	33. The Slaughter

There was a flash of silver, the sound of metal whispering air as the blade sliced through it. Where it had come from, why it had gotten so close so quietly, how it managed to catch Zarkon by such surprise -- there were no answers to any of those questions. All there was had been the flash of that silver... at first anyways.

Because just after, there had been the clunk of the blade sliding through the literal chink of Zarkon's armor. A masterfully calculated spot, just above the left shoulder blade. The silver sword sunk its way deep into the muscle of Zarkon's back with a painful sounding rip and sizzle of flesh and nerves. The larger demon uttered out a roaring-scream that nearly shook the room about them, whipping around to face his new attacker -- that sword still lodged into his muscular back. He threw Lotor to the ground, releasing his grip on the boy's throat and allowing him to take a few struggled gasps of air, flaming, pain twisted features settling upon the form before him.

With his sword in Zarkon's back, Shiro was unarmed, looking up into the enraged eyes of one of the most powerful creatures he had ever come into contact with. His body trembled with the force it took to ignore his instinct -- his instinct to sink down to his knees and submit himself to such a superior being. Instead, Shiro looked up at him, eyes narrowed, both hands curled into tight fists. He looked Zarkon right in the eyes, and he didn't back down.

"Punch my boyfriend -- see, that's one thing," Shiro growled through his gritted fangs. He pretended his voice hadn't been shaking as much as it was. "But kick my fucking dog? Now we've got problems."

Zarkon gave an animalistic sort of sound. A mix between a growl and a shout. He reached up his colossal right fist, grasped the silver sword in his hands with the sick sound of sizzling flesh, and wrenched it from his shoulder with a splattering spray of black blood. He tossed the sword down so it slid across the hot stone floor -- Shiro watched it go before flicking his gaze back up to the monster before him, who had taken his first, challenging step forwards.

"You," he snapped through gritted teeth, his set of fangs grinding together behind his snarling lips. "What do you think you're doing? I own you. You're mine."

Shiro didn't take a step backwards as Zarkon slowly advanced. "I'm not anybody's," Shiro snapped at him, his stomach simply churning as Zarkon's presence -- Zarkon's scent -- drew closer. "Especially since we're going to kill your ass -- you're not going to own anyone. You're never going to hurt anyone ever again."

A low, blood curdling laugh slithered from Zarkon's lips, which were beginning to twist in their own deranged sort of smile. "Such brave words for someone trembling beneath my very gaze," he crooned.

There wasn't even a moment of hesitation -- Zarkon's single hand moved with speeds that made Shiro's mind spin. He felt the demon's grip clasp about his torso, his hand big enough to curl about Shiro's chest and pull him close, like a beetle squirming in the pinched grasp of a boy ready to see what bug insides look like. He gripped tightly despite the burning of his hand -- tight enough for Shiro to lose his breath as he was wrenched forwards, but not tight enough to keep him from getting it back. Shiro writhed, beating at Zarkon's hands with fists that were like nothing compared to the one encircling his torso. Zarkon just watched him with angry eyes... angry eyes aflame with a hunger Shiro knew all too well. At the sight of it, Shiro struggled a bit more desperately -- all in vain.

"What did you think was going to happen, Champion?" Zarkon growled, squeezing so hard Shiro's ribs seemed to creak before he lessened the pressure again.

"Don't call me that," Shiro spluttered, his heart beating a mile a minute.

Zarkon cocked his head, the anger slowly melting from his features as the primal joy of playing with one's food slowly filled in its place. His smile was eerie as his gaze focused upon the tendons and veins in Shiro's throat. "I can call you whatever I please. You're mine," he asked in a toying sort of tone.

"You've got one hand, dipshit! What are you going to do to me?" Shiro's voice was loud, a little panicked -- he didn't know how much longer he could keep all of that up. Keep up that confident front. Keep up the resistance to his own animal urges.

"Oh," Zarkon said, eyes flashing like mad along with the flames of the torches. His sharp, two inch long fangs glinted along with them, glistening as he ran his tongue along their curvature. "I wasn't ever planning on using my hand."

Shiro's feet were lifted from the ground as Zarkon picked him up by that grip on his chest. He knew what was next -- Shiro squeezed his eyes tight and turned his head waiting for the pain. His whole body still tensed in shock at the splitting feeling of fangs piercing into muscle between his neck and shoulder. He still cried out. A pathetic sort of wail left his lips as the hot agony zipped through his nerves and his veins. His eyes were teary when he fluttered them open, wide with horror at the sight of Zarkon's head buried in the near crook of his neck.

He didn't drink much. Shiro whimpered when Zarkon drew his fangs from his muscle, watching with wide eyes as the demon licked his lips. Blood pumped its sluggish way through the bitemark, up through Shiro's ruined armor and around it in a trickling stream of marbled silver. Shiro gave a low groan and hung his head, his heart fluttering in his chest, his breath heavy as it spilled past his lips.

"I'm going to take my time draining every last drop from your body," Zarkon hummed, the hunger husky in his voice.

Shiro gave a weak laugh. "I guess that means I'm pretty good at this?"

Zarkon furrowed his brow. "Good at what?"

"Stalling."

Zarkon's brow had creased with confusion for a few moments before realisation set in. He heard the approaching footsteps and released Shiro, turning and swinging his fist at Lotor- who once more managed to drop to the floor and slide safely out of the way of the impact. He leapt up and hooked one arm around Zarkon's throat, pressing his sword to it.

 

"You really liked dragging that out, huh?" Lotor asked Shiro as Zarkon reached back with his one hand, grabbing his waist and throwing Lotor off of him, but he got his feet under him and ran right back. He easily dodged the next slash, though the angels blood was beginning to set in and increasing Zarkon's alertness. Lotor swung his sword and it made impact with Zarkon's hand, catching between two armoured plates and being knocked from his hand- but he didn't let it stop him and threw a punch while he had his momentum. It made impact with Zarkon's jaw and he dropped back.

Zarkon stumbled back and Lotor retreated enough to be stood by Shiro's side.

Shiro had pushed himself to a groggy sort of stand, his hand pressed over the wound on his shoulder. "What the hell took you so long?" he panted, his nose scrunched up and his eyes narrowed in a mighty cringe. Fire seemed to lick at each deep gouge of his neck and shoulder.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, frowning. "At least I came in to help you, not to honour my dog." Lotor grinned, though, meaning that there were no hard feelings between the two of them.

Shiro managed to smile back. "It was a cool entrance line, you gotta admit," he said, huffing out a breathy sort of laugh. "But, uh, you could have gotten up fast enough to keep me from being, I don't know, bitten?"

Blood oozed past his fingers, still pumping steadily from the wounds. Shiro warily threw a glance back at the diminished swarm of demons -- knowing they'd want to get a taste of so much fresh angel blood. He was pleasantly surprised to see about four or five left standing in a bloody battlefield of strewn demon parts and a very playful looking Atlas bounding after each one. It seemed as though she took the kick from Zarkon like a champ -- it hadn't stunted her performance in the slightest bit. Shiro watched as she raced after another demon, turning back around before he could see what caused that sound of snapping bone and ripping flesh.

His eyes trailed back to where Zarkon had been -- watching as the snarling demon pushed back up to his feet.

"Uh-oh. Incoming," Shiro said to Lotor, nudging him with his elbow. "He's also a little jacked on angel blood right now. And I don't have my sword. Any plans, babe?"

"Two ideas, yeah," Lotor said as he backed up just a little more. "Either we both die here, or you let me drink some of your blood so that I can get on the same level." He drew up his sword and stood in front of Shiro as Zarkon's fist came down again. He grit his teeth as Zarkon shouted and swung his fist again, and again, the impact sending Shiro and Lotor back a few paces each time he struck.

It was getting harder and harder to deflect each strike, but when Zarkon pulled back to regain his balance, Lotor turned to Shiro.  
"Now or never," he said, one hand setting on Shiro's bicep. "I need to drink now or we're both going down."

Shiro swallowed hard, but he gave a quick nod. "With all the times you helped me," he started, tipping his head back and exposing his bloody shoulder to Lotor, "I don't mind being your personal pick-me-up. Take all you need, Lotor."

He turned his head and pinched his eyes close, feeling the brewing sense of humor stir in his stomach at the irony of the situation. How quickly the places had been flipped. He wondered bleakly if Lotor felt the same as he felt a hand snake around his waist and pull him closer.

Lotor dipped into Shiro's neck and hungrily sank his teeth into the flesh. Shiro whimpered, hissing a breath of pained air through his teeth. Lotor was careful as he began to drink it, closing his eyes and starting to suck the blood from the open wound. He groaned a little, pulling away after a few moments before he could get hooked on it. He broke away after a moment, turning his focus to Zarkon, who was preparing for another strike now. Atlas barked from where she was, beginning to come over to stand by them now that there were no other threats. Shiro slumped up against Atlas, head feeling light and dizzy, but she didn't seem to mind. She began to snarl at Zarkon, growling, her fur bristling.

"You're outnumbered!" Lotor shouted, moving back after a moment, gripping tighter to his sword now. "You'll die here whether you fight or not!"

Zarkon gave a low growl, his fangs bared and his eyes flashing. "You can't kill me!" he cried. "Neither of you can! You're both beneath me! A halfbreed brat and some worthless gladiator! I'm an Emperor!"

He charged forwards with a guttural sort of roar, drawing his fist back and aiming it straight for his son. Lotor dodged it easily, charged up on his own angel blood and without the same injuries and emotional instability of his snarling father. He delivered his own punch in a mighty uppercut, driving Zarkon back from the weakened Shiro, before slashing his sword upwards and across his armor chestplate. There was a shriek of silver against demonic metal, and then a cry from Zarkon himself as the tip of Lotor's blade cut passed his armor and swiped across his skin. No where near a fatal blow, but enough to fuel his burning anger. His next few attacks were mindless and easy to pary. Lotor dodged and blocked and delivered strikes of his own.

Shiro watched from where he was slumped beside Atlas, having sunk down to his knees, leaned against his hound and letting her lick at his wounds. It didn't do much, of course, but Shiro accepted it, still a little lightheaded and woozy. He watched, eyes wide and excited as he watched Lotor win the fight, quietly cheering out from the sidelines each time Zarkon was punched or slashed with the silver blade. He wanted to help -- he wanted to get up and help kill the man the ruined both his life and his afterlife -- but Shiro didn't want to mess up Lotor's flow. He didn't want to get in the way.

The pace of the fight was growing. After each strike, Lotor would barely have a moment to orient himself before he was being struck again, leading him to dodge and jump out of the way to avoid even the slightest hits. There was no doubt about it, though- his father was weakened with one severed hand, and the bleeding was starting to affect him. He was stumbling, he was starting to get sluggish even with the angels blood pumping through his system. He was growing weak, tired, and Lotor was seeing more and more openings. He had swung at his fathers chest twice now, leaving an overlapping cross like a target where the armour was beginning to melt away.

It was leaving him with more and more of an opening to strike- he was just waiting for his father to make the wrong step...

Which was when it happened. His father swung for a punch and missed, stumbling forward, and Lotor took his chance. He dove forward, lunging, stabbing his plate at the slotted line in his armour where the protection had worn away and he felt the blade meet flesh- and burst it with a satisfying kind of release, like dull bubble wrap. The momentum carried him forward until the blade hit the back of the armour, the sizzling giving a muted screaming kind of sound as it wore away at flesh and bone inside Zarkon's chest.

It slid out of his skin like it would out of a sheath, with the same satisfying kind of groan and squeal. Lotor brought it to his side and flicked it to clean off some of the excess blood, a small smile curling onto his lips out of satisfaction. He watched as his father fell to one knee, dropping his sword to move one hand to the wound that spurted blood onto the steaming floors.  
"You... you wretched filth!" he shouted, though blood trickled past his lips and out of his mouth. It dribbled down his chin, dropping onto the floor. In all his years, Lotor hadn't felt as good as he did watching this. Nothing felt as perfect as watching his father die before his eyes.

"Half-breed!" His father began to scream, as if outraged that Lotor had existed in the first place. "Weakling, abomination, disappointment, wretch," like a broken record of all the names Lotor had been called in his life, but his mood was too good to be ruined by that.

 

"Don't you ever shut up?" he asked, raising his sword. His father began to laugh, though his laughs gargled as blood bubbled up and spilled past his lips.   
"You'll never be anything but a monster," he snarled out at Lotor.

But Lotor had already grown tired of hearing his voice, so he raised his sword once more. His father wasn't dying quick enough- he'd do him a favour. So he slashed the blade hard and fast, feeling it slice through flesh once more- though this was far more satisfying. This was Lotor basking in the kill as his father's head toppled off of it's shoulders.

It fell to the floor, the body slumping over after only a few minutes. Lotor sighed a breath of relief, feeling power surge through him, feeling all forms of energy rushing through his veins and filling his body with an unfamiliar sense of power. He sighed in blissful relief, closing his eyes. He could feel his appearance changing, his body, his face, the marks he was accursed with, everything.

But all he felt was an unfamiliar sense of calm. This kind of change would have been agony a few months back, but now? Without the burden of his father or his memories causing him pain? Without grace poisoning his blood? This felt phenomenal.

He turned to face Shiro when the adrenaline rush was over, a smile on his lips as he turned to face his boyfriend.  
"See?" he said, dropping his sword. Satisfied. "I told you that this would turn out fine, didn't I?"

Shiro's face hadn't reflected the joyful relief Lotor had been waiting for — instead, his pale features reflected a powerful sort of shock. His eyes were wide as he pushed up from the floor, lips parted into a stupified sort of gape. His gaze trailed along the pool of blood behind Lotor before it began to climb up Lotor's bloodied form... the form that had changed.

Marks of the damned streaked across his open skin like the stripes of an ink colored tiger. Sharp fangs, much like the ones Zarkon had pierced his shoulder with, rested upon his bottom lip and glistened in the torchlight when he opened his mouth to speak. His horns had changed. They were thicker. They curved back like Zarkon's had — like an ibex. Strong and sharp and tall, better than Sendak's, better than Shiro's. A long, whiplike tail curled around his leg, flicking like a cat's would, streaked with broken lines of gold and silver. His eyes shined like the moonlight against the dim atmosphere of Zarkon's throne room, looking down at Shiro like vibrant spotlights, brewing up a feeling Shiro couldn't quite place among all of that numbing surprise.

Mindlessly, Shiro took a few staggered steps forwards, looking Lotor up and down. His head felt light with the blood loss, and at the sight of his old master dead — beheaded with a spray of thick, black blood — any previous adrenaline had leaked from his system. His instincts pried at him, tugged at him and pulled at him... only they seemed to respect a new master. A creature before him, once created by light but now corrupted by darkness. The king of hell and the king of him. It didn't matter how sparkly his new soul had glittered inside of him — Shiro had a purpose in his afterlife.

To serve.

He dropped down on his one knee without thinking, finally letting his instincts overwhelm him as he sank before Lotor, flicking his eyes down at the new Emperor's feet. Why his lips quirked into that smile, he didn't know. All he knew was he felt the curl of his smirk against his cheeks, and his words were muddled around a mighty purr when he spoke-

"Vrepit sa, my lord."

In spite of himself, Lotor may have smiled just a little bit wider.


End file.
